


Kaleidoscopes and Mirrors

by ArtsyAfrodite



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gallavich, Gallavich AU, Multi, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:19:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never backed down from a fight, usually prevailing as the victor to the onlookers, but later suffering as the loser in the confines of his room when he was alone.  Pain he could take, but the emotional aftermath always hit harder than any fist could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mirror Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Tumblr prompt fill for an idea by Amanda (teamwinchesterbros), for an AU where either Ian or Mickey has synesthesia. For those who are unsure of what this is: Synesthesia - a perceptual/neurological condition of mixed sensations: a stimulus in one sensory modality (e.g., hearing) involuntarily elicits a sensation/experience in another modality (e.g. vision). In other words, you can smell colors, see the color of people's auras, feel sensations from certain sounds, etc (there are tons of variations). I wrote in a few different forms, but the one I'm focusing on the most is Mirror-Touch: experiencing the same sensation that another person feels.
> 
> Something else good to know - Ian and Mickey know each other but aren't together yet, and are around the ages they were in Season 2. Also, Mickey didn't drop out of high school.

His eyes  _felt_  for the first time by his father’s hand.  It scared him, nearly knocking the wind out of him – literally.  It was an afternoon in June, the rain was falling in steady steams painting the sky and creating clouds of steam off of the Southside pavement.  He was in the car with his mom, dad and younger sister headed to the supermarket, one of his favorite places despite it being the least visited.  He was seven years old.

For the most part, the car ride was pleasant.  There was always something nice about riding in a car when it rained.  The sounds the water made as it hit the windows made you feel safe inside – it couldn’t get to you there.  But it wasn’t just that.  The raindrops smelled like bananas and chocolate to him, tiny fireworks of yellow dancing through each one, his own Fourth of July sparking pleasantries in his pupils only he could describe.  After all, he didn’t know anyone like him.

Mickey always knew he didn’t see things like other kids.  The way he processed sounds was also different.  His eyes always did things he didn’t understand, the colors and smells clinging tightly to his vision extra “gifts” as his mom called them.  Certain voices even came with sensations in the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet, music like a settling warmth in his neck and shoulders.  Every day was a different experience, gifts given through senses.  In his naiveté Mickey approached it just like that, taking his uniqueness for face value.  One can only get so many ‘gifts’ as a Milkovich until, inevitably, things begin to get stolen from you.  The ignorance of a child is bliss.  That would all change that rainy day in June.

Terry Milkovich was his father, never one for empathy and his hands spoke louder than his mouth.  Words from him were more like acid anyway.  Mickey would always feel the unsettling sensation curdling in the pit of his stomach with each note of his father’s unsound vocals.  His voice was the first to travel somewhere other than his extremities.  Over the years he’d grow numb to the feeling, learning how to pretend it wasn’t there.

Mickey would always hear Terry arguing with his mother, Anna, in the middle of most nights, the screaming causing the palms of his hands to practically burn.  He’d scratch aimlessly at the tiny lines in the palms of his hands as his parents’ voices ricocheted off of the walls, while simultaneously trying to comfort his sister Mandy.  His little sister’s cries were like tiny pins in the soles of his feet.  The mixture of Mandy’s sobs and his mother’s would nearly cause him to go into sensory overload.  He didn’t have a handle on this  _thing_ , not back then.  The sounds of their fights were sometimes maddening, and what his ears couldn’t do, his eyes certainly would. 

The first time his eyes made him feel, he was strapped tight in his seat belt in the backseat of their old, beat up station wagon where he was born – go figure.  Terry physically abusing his mother was nothing new, the added images to all the sounds a daily routine.  But this time around, attached to what he normally saw would be more than what his eyes could handle.

 

_“One hundred lousy fucking dollars?”  Terry’s voice was low, venomous; the way it got when he was on a rampage.  It was always the calm before the storm.  Anna shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the station wagon, her red fingernails finding their way to her forearms, scratching away the end of last night’s high.  “This all you got from working the past three nights at the diner?  How we gonna feed six kids with this, huh?!”_

_Anna flinched.  Terry’s voice was booming now, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth like a rabies infected dog.  Cujo to be exact.  When she didn’t answer, he cut the steering wheel so hard it practically gave Mickey and Mandy whiplash.  He pulled the station wagon over on the next side street, undoing his seatbelt before the car was even in park.  Anna nervously rubbed at her mouth, smearing her red lipstick down her chin.  She turned around to Mickey and Mandy in the backseat, her lips nervously quivering.  Pools of water were already forming in Mandy’s big blue eyes; Mickey clang to the seatbelt across his chest tightly._

_“It’s gonna be ok kids,” Anna said, her voice cracking._

_“You fucking look at me bitch,” Terry growled.  He grabbed Anna by her chin and forced her to look at him.  Mickey cradled his own chin and instantly grabbed his neck, a weird tugging sensation traveling down his spine.  “You spent the rest on H didn’t you?!”_

_“That’s all I got babe, I swear,” Anna pleaded._

_“Lying whore.”_

_“Terry please, the kids.  Don’t – “_

_“Shut the fuck up,” he interrupted.  “I can practically smell it on you.  I buy for us, not you!”  Anna fixed her mouth to answer, but before she could curve her lips around the slightest syllable, Terry’s fist connected with her face._

_The only things Mickey remembers after that are Mandy’s screams and the sensation of something hitting his face.  He woke up to his mother’s already swollen face hovering over him in the back of the station wagon, her clothes and hair wet, clinging to her skin from the rain where she had jumped out.  Her hands were cradled around his pale face, tears streaming lines of mascara down her cheeks._

_“My sweet baby,” she kept repeating in the softest voice possible._

_Mickey had gone unconscious when Terry hit his mother.  When he came to, he was so terrified, he could barely breathe._

_He would never be quite the same._

////////////////////////////////////////////

“You smoke too much shrimp.  Gimme that.”

Mickey side-eyed Nicky as he leaned against the brick wall behind the high school, his older brother reaching for his cigarette.  He swatted his hand away from his mouth and blew out a slow stream of smoke towards his chubby face.  Nicky made it his job to remind Mickey he was the smallest out of all of the Milkovich brothers, but never admitted he was the toughest.  He stuck up his middle finger branded with the letter “C” in response, bringing the nicotine back to his lips.

“Fuck off,” Mickey huffed though another mouth full of smoke.  “I’m seventeen which means I do what I want.” 

“Still a minor,” Nicky countered.

“Don’t come preachin’ to me with that shit,” Mickey spat.  “You’re only like two years older than me.”  Nicky was nineteen, still a senior in high school and the last person to be schooling anyone on proper moral codes. 

“You cuttin’?” Nicky asked, finally managing to finagle the cigarette out of Mickey’s mouth.

“Nah,” Mickey replied.  He pulled out a pack of Marlboro’s and lit another cigarette.  “Fuckin’ breathin’.”

“Breathin’?”

“’Yeah man.  It’s old man Finnegan’s class.  He sounds like fuckin’ Dumbledore from Harry Potter and the classroom smells like nail polish remover to me.” 

“It does not.”

“To you it doesn’t.”

“’Oh yeah, that,” Nicky snorted.  Sometimes he’d forget that his brother could see and smell things other people couldn’t.  It was easy to forget about given his other magical sense he had, feeling shit he saw.

“It’s math anyways.  I can do that shit with my eyes closed.”  Math was the only subject Mickey really put any effort behind, despite hardly going to class.  He barely made it out the ninth and tenth grade and considered dropping out at one point.  School wasn’t his thing.  He only did the bare minimum to get by – if bullying geeks into writing his papers counted as such.

“That’s cuz you see number sequences and match them with colors and whatnot.  Fuckin’ weird wizard shit.”

“You callin’ me weird?” Mickey said as he stood up straight.

“Yeah shrimp, always have been,” Nicky laughed. 

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault you got anesthesia or whatever the fuck it’s called.”  Mickey rolled his eyes at his dumbass of a brother and the faint sparks of orange that came with him.  He sounded just like Terry when he learned about his disorder.

_“The fuck is it called again?”  Synthesis?” Terry questioned Anna as he watched a twelve year old Mickey across the living room chomping it up with his brothers._

_“Synesthesia,” Anna corrected._

_After years of freaking out whenever he witnessed someone getting hit, or being in physical pain when one of his siblings would fall and hurt themselves, Anna finally took it upon herself to take Mickey to a Doctor.  He hadn’t passed out in years, but the sensations were still there.  Hit someone hard enough, and it could knock him off his feet.  He was referred to a Psychologist who eventually diagnosed him with multiple forms of Synesthesia._

_“And no taking Mickey out with you and the boys on runs, ok?” Anna pleaded.  “You know the mirror-touch one makes him feel what he sees Terry, and you guys can get pretty rowdy on runs.”_

_“Mirror what?” Terry spat.  He knitted his eyebrows close together as he studied the lines in Anna’s worried face.  “Whatever.  No son of mine is gonna be some pansy cuz of what some shrink says.  I’ll help him get over it and learn how to control this shit.”_

_Anna sighed as Terry stormed out the back door.  She knew things would only get worse for her youngest son._

“It’s synesthesia dumbass,” Mickey corrected. 

“Yeah, that shit.  So what’s _this_ like again?” Nicky asked holding up the cigarette.  Mickey’s eyes followed the gray, light blue in his case, upwards.

“What, smoke?”

“Yeah.”  Mickey hesitated, looking around as if checking if anyone was lurking nearby.  He hated when his brothers asked him these questions, putting his disorder on a pedestal when it should have been locked in a box somewhere.

“Light blue mostly.  Smells like cotton candy.”

“Man that’s awesome,” Nicky beamed.  “Dude, you’re never gonna stop smoking with this synesthesia thing.”

“And don’t go sayin’ that shit too loud ‘round here.”

“Why not?” Nicky challenged.

“Cuz it’s nobody’s fuckin’ business, that’s why.”  Nicky shrugged, finishing off the last of the cigarette.

“Whatever mirror boy.  Gotta run.”  Mickey cringed at the nickname Mandy gave him when he was twelve.  Nicky threw the butt of the cigarette into the dirt, crushing it out with the tip of his boot.  “Doin’ runs later with Iggy.  You game?”

“Nah, got shit to do,” Mickey lied.  He was no bitch, but he avoided going out on runs with his dad and his brothers as much as possible.  They usually resulted in all out brawls.  His own hit, he could take, but it was seeing someone else get hit that would sometimes turn Mickey’s insides – even days later.  The residual effects of seeing someone’s nose crushed underneath a tattooed fist would have Mickey massaging his nose for days after.  It varied from slight tingling to painful throbbing.  He even sprung a nose bleed from it once. 

Being a Milkovich, fighting was something he could never avoid completely, having to go on the more than occasional run to keep Terry off his back, but Mickey always did his best to.  He never backed down from a fight, usually prevailing as the victor to the onlookers, but later suffering as the loser in the confines of his room when he was alone.  Pain he could take, but the emotional aftermath always hit harder than any fist could.  It made it harder to hide his disorder, someone getting punched in the stomach usually resulting in him buckling over and gripping his own.  Sometimes it made him feel weak, and that was the last thing he wanted to come off as.  He had a reputation to uphold.  So over the years he got good at hiding it.  Aside from his immediate family, no one could know.  No one.

“Well I’m goin’ to Amber’s afterwards,” Nicky said as he began to walk away.  “You could come along lil’ bro.  She’s down to gangbang.”

“No thanks.  That bitch has to have herpes or some shit.” 

Mickey inwardly cringed as his brother disappeared around the building, leaving him alone.  Except, there with him in the back of the school, was something not even his family knew.  Unless Amber had a dick between her legs, Mickey was far from interested.  Sure, he’d slept with his fair share of girls, but only because being gay in the Southside was a death wish.  In his ignorance and near desperation, he thought he could suppress those feelings if he had enough sex with enough girls.  But, just like his disorder, he couldn’t get rid of it, only hide it.

At the sound of the bell for next period, Mickey decided to spilt from school for the rest of the day.  He didn’t have the patience to walk through the hallways today.  All he needed right now was some good weed and a decent pair of headphones.

~~~

 Mickey sat on the top step of his house, the earphones that he stole from his brother Iggy’s room plugged tightly into his ears.  He zipped his hoodie down midway his chest exposing his gray t-shirt, as it was September and still pretty warm out.  He smoked the last of his spliff, tossing the remainder to the side.  Smoking weed always magnified the things he saw, his eyes looking through a kaleidoscope.  This good of a high should be illegal.

“Ay shit head!”  Her voice practically sliced through the music.  Mickey snapped out of his daze and rubbed the pads of his fingers over his eyes, removing the earphones.  It didn’t take long for him to realize it was Mandy, vibrant shades of purple meeting his eyes before her face.  That was her color.  “The hell are you doin’ out here?”

“Minding my own damn business,” Mickey said as he stood. 

“Where were you today?  You cut?”

“Congratulations Einstein.”

“Hey fuck you,” Mandy snapped as she bumped his shoulder.  “Are you high?  You know how you get when you’re high Mickey.”

“Jesus you sound just like mom used to.”  ‘Used to’ was the operative phrase.  Their mother had died three years back from a heroin overdose.  Now it was like Mandy took her place with trying to tell all the brothers what to do.

“You know I’m right.”

“Whatever, I’m out.”  Mickey hopped down the steps and began to walk down the walkway.

“The hell are you goin’?” Mandy nosed.

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Asshole.  You know you always leave around this time!” Mandy shouted as Mickey jogged across the street.  He stuck up his middle finger in response without turning around, marching with a purpose down the sidewalk.

It didn’t take Mickey long to get to his destination.  He opened the door to the Kash N Grab, that all too familiar smell hitting him instantly the moment he laid eyes on him.  Mickey squared his shoulders as he walked past a familiar set of green eyes studying him, straight to the where the Pringles were kept.  He grabbed a few other items, his usual, before heading to the counter to pay.  Mickey grabbed a pack of Strawberry Bubblicious  gum and dropped it with the rest of his items, still not making eye contact with the boy behind the counter.

“Strawberry again,” the familiar voice said.

“What?” Mickey asked confused, finally looking up at the kid.  And up he had to definitely look.  Ian Gallagher had to have grown at least four inches after his freshman year.  His red hair, cut short now and no longer with those silly bangs he used to sport, seemed to fucking gleam – literally.  Ian smirked as he began to ring up Mickey’s items.  He held up the gum when he got to it.

“Strawberry Bubblicious.  You get the same kind every day.”

“What are you, like keepin’ a tally on what I buy?”  Ian lightly chuckled, sending a flash of warm down Mickey’s spine.

“No, just something I noticed.”  And it wouldn’t have been hard for the red head to pick up on that.  After all, Mickey made sure to come to the Kash N Grab every day just to be in the kid’s presence. 

There was always something about Ian Gallagher that tugged at Mickey’s insides, ever since Mandy bought him to their house for the first time a year ago, calling him her “boyfriend.”  But Mickey knew that was bullshit – at least he thought.  He took the looks Ian Gallagher gave him as proof he wasn’t interested in his sister like that, but he couldn’t just assume the kid was gay from that alone.  He was by no means obvious, especially when he trounced around school in that fucking ROTC uniform.  So, Mickey couldn’t be so sure.

“Well I like strawberry,” Mickey said as nonchalant as possible.

“I can see that.”

“Excuse me?”  Mickey immediately got on the defensive.  Ian simply smiled and held up the strawberry crush soda Mickey was also buying.  Of course.  There was no way the kid _knew_.  The tension in Mickey’s shoulders subsided as he pulled out a bunch of crumpled bills.  “How much?”

“$5.25.” 

Mickey quickly unfolded the bills as Ian placed an open palm on the counter to receive the money.  He studied the red head’s hand, but opted to place the bills and quarter on the counter.  Ian looked more amused than insulted as he picked up the money and placed it in the register.  Mickey glanced one last time into his green eyes before turning to walk away without saying anything.  He really wished he didn’t smoke weed before coming there.  The red he normally saw around Ian was intensified, and the smell made his nostrils flare.  He had to hurry up and get out of there.  The kid smelled too fucking good to be true.

“See ya later Mick,” Ian said as Mickey opened the door.  Mickey turned his head slightly to the side, careful to not look back.

“Later.”

Mickey let out the breath he was practically holding when he got outside.  He really wished he couldn’t see people’s auras, especially now.  Normally, he’d ignore which ever color came attached to a person; and it didn’t show all of the time anyway.  But with Ian Gallagher, it was constant.  _Fucking red._   His color was ironic to Mickey, given the kid had red hair.  But it wasn’t just that.  Red smelled like strawberry to him, always had.

He opened the pack of bubblicious and threw one in his mouth as he walked home, instantly thinking of the Gallagher kid.


	2. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four walls reminded him of his fears as they silently whispered tales of the countless nights he felt the pain of a busted lip without the blood, or a broken nose without the broken bone.

Mickey always had to hide what he felt, and well.

His ribs were still telling the tale of last night’s fight.  But he knew better, clenching his teeth whenever he felt the pain.  Terry could care less about ‘that mirror shit’ as he called it, his eyes always landing on his son immediately after inflicting damage on someone.  It was if he was testing him – seeing if his balls were Milkovich material.  They certainly were.  Mickey nearly bit his tongue off as he took the brunt of another man’s strike, the blood in his mouth more pleasant than what he saw.  The taste of iron and the way it stuck to his palate was all for appeasing Terry and his need to have strong sons.  There was no question Mickey’s loins were worthy, but his mind couldn’t have been farther from the brute mentality Terry and his brothers possessed. 

They were carbon copies of their father – all cold and steel, through and through.  Mickey faked it to make it, this thing making him more empathetic than he cared to admit.  It wasn’t in his nature, yet it was out of his control most of the time.  Terry would always lose his gourd whenever he thought any one of his Milkovich boys were showing signs of weakness.

 

_Iggy grabbed his face, turning over on his side as he writhed in pain.  He didn’t make a sound._

_So well trained._

_He silently agonized as he rocked back and forth.  His lip was split and his nose was bleeding, the linoleum resembling red graffiti.  He’d face planted after horsing around with Jamie who tripped him in the process.  Anna immediately ran to Iggy’s side, wiping the blood off of his face with a paper towel as Terry sat and watched.  He took another sip of vodka from his tin flask, his face expressionless._

_“Leave him ‘lone Anna.  He’s fine,” Terry said in a drunken slur._

_“But his face Terry.  There’s blood all over the linoleum.”  She continued to wipe, ignoring Terry’s order._

_“Did you hear what I said?!” he screamed.  “Get the fuck off him!”  He walked over to her and grabbed her by her boney arm, flinging her across the kitchen._

_Sobs travelled from the living room, getting Terry’s attention.  An eleven year old Mickey stood with both of his hands over his nose and mouth.  Terry’s heavy footsteps seemed to exacerbate his cries.  He walked towards his son, his face in a snarl.  He wiped the sweat off of his forehead as he stopped in front of Mickey._

_“You fuckin’ cryin’?” Terry asked in a low voice.  Mickey tried his best to cut off his cries, failing miserably.  Before he could remove his tiny hands from over his face, Terry swatted them away.  “You listen and you listen good you little punk,” Terry said as he looked down at the dark haired boy.  “No son of mine is gonna be weak.  So you straighten up before I give you somethin’ to cry about.  You hear me?!”_

_Terry’s hands were around Mickey’s frail neck now, shaking him.  All Mickey could do was shake his head ‘yes’ as best he could, while trying to grasp at what little air his dad was allowing him._

“Good job on the run last night son.”

Mickey was grabbing a beer out of the fridge and hadn’t even heard anyone walk into the kitchen.  He turned around to a surprisingly sober Terry, his voice and the curdling in his stomach letting him know who it was before turning around.  He patted Mickey on the back as he leaned past him, grabbing a beer for himself as well.  A pat on the back from Terry might as well have been a knife.  Mickey felt no sense of pride from his father’s gesture.

“Thanks,” he said as he began to walk out of the kitchen. 

“Mhmm,” Terry mumbled as he gulped his beer.  “And son?”  Mickey turned, meeting his father’s serious gaze; a look that was always unsettling to him.

“Yeah?” he answered hesitantly.  Terry tilted his head back as he took another long gulp of his beer, his eyes never leaving his son’s face. 

“Next time you’ll take the lead.  It’s time.”  Mickey nodded without saying anything, a silent acknowledgement and stark contrast to his insides that were practically screaming.

Time to swallow the cinnamon.

Back in his room, he sat on the side of his bed facing the window, staring straight into the sunlight.  The four walls reminded him of his fears as they silently whispered tales of the countless nights he felt the pain of a busted lip without the blood, or a broken nose without the broken bone.  He didn’t blink.  He didn’t look away.  His beer remained unopened as his tattooed fingers traced the subtle indentations of his ribs.  The familiar soreness rose beneath the pads of his fingers as he closed his eyes, the residual light in his pupils from the light of the sun turning from yellow-orange to a cold gray.  The steel behind his eyelids inched behind his neck and down his spine, the cold chill settling deep inside the bone.

~~~

Mandy must have fallen and bumped her pretty little head.  While not actually falling, Mickey almost wished she really did bump her head – he’d rather experience the thud on his own rather than deal with the request she just made.  Mickey scoffed and refused to oblige his sister, putting Iggy’s earphones back into his ears and leaned back in his bed.  The bitch knew how to disturb him when he didn’t _need_ to be disturbed.  But Mandy wasn’t having it.

“Did you just hear me?” she asked as she pulled out the ear phones.  “Gosh what is it with you and music anyway?”  Mickey sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.  He gripped his side as he sat up, practically wincing.  If Mandy noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“I heard you, alright?  And in case you were wonderin’ my answer’s no.  You can get the fuck out now.”  Mandy crossed her arms, her feet planted.  She wasn’t going to move and Mickey knew it.

Mandy had the audacity to ask him if he would come with her to a party tomorrow night because she didn’t want to show up alone.  Normally, Mickey was always game to get shitfaced, and he knew at this particular house, the booze would be more than plentiful given the party was being thrown by one of the many offspring of the Southside’s most notorious drunk.  But Lip Gallagher’s party?  No fucking way.  The guy was an asshole, one of those genius sarcastic ones at that, but besides hating the guy, he was Ian’s older brother.  This meant he would have to be around the younger Gallagher, and Mickey didn’t want to deal with that anytime soon. 

“Well?” Mandy asked impatiently.

“You deaf?” Mickey snarled.  “I said no.  And you only wanna go cuz you’re crushin’ on fucking Lip Gallagher.”

“So.”

“So go alone.  I’m not taggin’ along with you so you can Gallagher hop.”  Mandy’s eyes widened from her brother’s accusation.

“Gallagher hop?  I’m not Gallagher hopping you jerk.”

“Oh yeah?  What about little red riding hood?”

“Ian?”

“Yeah, him.”  Mandy uncrossed her arms and studied her brother’s face.  Mickey shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide any ounce of emotion.

“He’s my best friend asshole.”

“I remember you callin’ him your boyfriend when you first started bringin’ him around.”  Mandy laughed and rolled her eyes. 

“That was fake and it was only to keep the creepy dudes away from me at school.”

“Whatever,” Mickey huffed.

“Why do you care?”

“Don’t.”  Mickey played it cool.  He was good at it, his demeanor the exact opposite of the fire taking place in his gut. 

“Trust me it’s not like that between us,” Mandy replied as she fidgeted with the drawstrings on her hoodie.  “Never has been and never will be.”  Mickey looked back up at Mandy through squinted eyes.  She wasn’t lying, her eyes fixed on his.  Something too damn close to excitement and relief washed over him, but he quickly shook it off, because that meant nothing.  He swung his legs around the side of his bed, his hand practically rushing to his side.  “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Went on a run with dad, Iggy and Nicky.  Saw dad kick a guy in the ribs.”

“Oh,” Mandy said, her voice doing a complete 180.  “I’ll leave you alone then.”  She didn’t ask for Mickey to elaborate further, because she knew.  Feeling almost guilty for pressuring her brother, she turned to leave his room. 

“I’ll go,” Mickey said before she completely walked out.

“Listen Mickey, you don’t have to.  It’s cool I’ll go alone.”

“Weren’t you just bitchin’ about going alone?”

“Yeah, but you – “

“Look, I ain’t no bitch ok?  This is nothin’,” Mickey cut her off.  He motioned towards his side, giving Mandy a thumbs up.  As if that would convince her he was ok.  “So take my offer before I change my mind.”

“Ok, cool.”  Mandy smiled, only slightly, trying to hide her excitement.  “Got any good weed to bring?”

“Always do.”

Mandy walked out of the room, finally leaving Mickey alone.  He rubbed both of his hands over his face, letting out a long sigh.  What the hell was he getting himself into?  House parties _never_ turned out good.  Even worse, it was a house party at Ian Gallagher’s house.  He’d have to get more than high and way past drunk to make sure he didn’t focus too much on the red head.  Then again, that was almost impossible.

~~~

Two hours.  Two fucking hours.  That’s how long it took Mandy to get ready, and all just to slip on a piece of red spandex too small for one of Mickey’s thighs.  Jesus, was it even a dress? 

“How’s this?”  Mandy walked out of her room, more like stumbled, twisting from side to side as she eyed Mickey for approval.  Her black pumps, too high to be comfortable, scraped against the hardwood floor as she modeled for her brother.  Her black eyeliner and mascara was extra heavy and her lips were weighed down in glittery gunk.  Mickey rolled his eyes, his nose scrunched in disgust.

“You hated it when people called you Mandy Skankovich.  You wearin’ that dress proves their point.”  Mickey jeered as he returned to playing the Xbox. 

“Really Mickey?  You say that to me right before we leave?  At least I have on more than jeans and a black shirt.  You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

“Might be,” Mickey snorted.  Mandy crossed her arms at her brother’s sarcasm.

“Can you at least say I look nice?” 

“Would if you did.”

“Ugh!  I’m changing!” Mandy shouted as she turned to go back in her room.  Mickey paused the game he was playing and practically flew off the couch.  Another two hours of waiting?  No fucking way.

“Alright, alright!” he began as he walked up to her room door.  “Jesus Mandy you look fine.”  Mandy whirled around, the look of disappointment in her face more than enough to make Mickey soften.

“You’re a douchebag.”

“You’re right, I am.  Can we go now before the fucking thing is over?”  Mandy pouted for all of five seconds more before letting a small smile tug at the corners of mouth.  Besides being scantily clad, Mickey could admit his sister was beautiful, her black bangs smooth and her eyes almost as blue as his own.  Her color was a bit more prominent tonight, the purple radiating outward.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Mandy said as she sauntered pass Mickey, making sure to walk with enough sass to make him cringe.  He hated when his little sister tried to act sexy.  “And I look hot.”

And maybe she did.  Mickey only wished she hadn’t chosen to wear red.  The faint smell of strawberry played at his nostrils, bringing to his mind a certain red head.  But the scent he got from Mandy wasn’t nearly as potent or intoxicating as the one he visited the Kash N Grab every day for, just to get a whiff.  Something about the way it oozed off of Ian made it seem almost sinful.  Mickey grazed his thumb across his bottom lip, the faint taste of bubblicious playing on his taste buds. 

When they arrived at the Gallagher house, Mickey could practically taste the alcohol before they walked in.  The strong smell of liquor mixed with the stench of weed seeped underneath the door as the music practically shook it off the hinges.  His eyes darted to Mandy’s hands that were nervously tugging at the bottom of her dress as they waited for someone to answer the door. 

After what seemed like forever, the door finally swung open.  They were greeted by a brown haired boy, around eleven years old Mickey thought, with a red cup in his hand, his eyebrows stitched in a curious frown. 

“Milkoviches?” the boy asked rhetorically.

“Yeah twerp,” Mickey bit back.  “The fuck are you?”

“Carl.”

“You Lip’s younger brother?”

“Yup.”  The younger Gallagher smiled wide before taking a swig of whatever it was in his cup.  Mickey guessed it wasn’t Sunny Delight.

“So you gonna let us in, or you gonna stand there all night?”  Carl moved to the side and motioned for the siblings to make their way inside.  The living room was littered with drunk teens, some dancing up against each other, others crashing on the couches and random spots on the floor, not one without a red cup or beer bottle.  Mickey noticed a tall white male with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail sniffing lines of coke off of the counter in the kitchen.  He recognized the guy – Kevin from the Alibi Room.  He knew exactly where he’d be tonight.

Carl pushed pass Mickey and Mandy, heading full speed ahead towards the mess of people.  Before the kid could make it all the way back in the mix, a hand reached out of the crowd and caught him by the collar of his shirt while simultaneously removing the cup from his hand. 

“Get your ass back upstairs!” Lip ordered his younger brother.  Clearly disappointed, Carl sucked his teeth and stomped all the way back upstairs.  Mandy noticed Lip and quickly fluffed her hair, smoothing out the front of her dress.  Mickey let out a long sigh as he watched his sister, the look on her face almost hopeless.  Lip turned and noticed the two Milkovich siblings, making his way over to them.  A cigarette hung loosely on his lips, his eyes scanning over Mandy too slow to not be intentional.

“Didn’t think you would make it,” Lip said to Mandy, clearly ignoring Mickey.  It was no secret the hate Mickey felt towards him was mutual.

“Me neither,” Mandy said as she fought back a smile.  They stared at each other for too fucking long and Mickey thought he would be sick right there.  Feeling the sting of his glare, Lip turned and nodded his head in a lackluster acknowledgement towards Mickey.

“Hey,” Lip said dryly.  Mickey didn’t even bother to reciprocate verbally.  Instead he raised his hand quickly in a half wave and made his way to the kitchen.  He laughed to himself because he couldn’t see Lip’s aura tonight, the faint tinge of greenish-blue he usually gave off tucked tight behind his hidden agenda to get in his sister’s pants.  Mandy on the other hand, was beaming.  She really liked the guy.

As he walked towards the kitchen, Mickey tried not to admit to himself that he was actually looking for the younger Gallagher brother.  Ian was nowhere to be found, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.  He entered the kitchen, eyeing Kevin as he came up from doing a line, letting out a howl from his lungs as he did so.  A black female with long locs next to him reached up and wiped the remnants of white powder out of his goatee as she laughed just as loud as he howled.  Fiona sat at the kitchen table, her feet propped up on another chair, her pupils blown.

“Whoa shit!” he yelled towards the ceiling.  “This is some good blow!”

“Kev baby, take it easy.  You know you get paranoid when you do too much coke and I don’t feel like killing imaginary spiders tonight!” the black female yelled at him.  Fiona began to laugh hysterically as she watched her best friend frown at her husband.

“V baby, I got this!” he responded, his head tilted back.  Mickey walked up to the counter, eager to take a hit.

“Yo, you got any more of that?” Mickey asked Kevin.  He looked down, really down, as he was at least 6’4” in comparison to Mickey’s 5’7” frame. 

“Mickey fucking Milkovich?  The hell are you doing here?!”  Kevin was almost as loud as the music, sparks of indigo practically jumping off of his skin. 

“Came with my sister.  Ay, you gonna hook me up or what?”  Kevin cocked an eyebrow before letting out a huge snort.

“Yeah, I got you!”  He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small bag filled with snow, placing it on the counter.  Mickey reached into his own pocket and pulled out two dime bags of weed, tossing them at Kevin. 

“For your trouble,” Mickey said as he grabbed the bag of coke off of the counter.  “It’s that good shit so don’t smoke it ‘til you start to come down.”

“All the more reason to!” Kevin laughed.  V made sure to grab the bags of weed as he laughed and tucked them tight into her bra.  Mickey simply shrugged at Kevin as he made straight lines with the coke on the counter.  This would be no ordinary experience for Mickey and he knew what he was in store for.  _You know how you get when you’re high._ Mandy’s voice pricked at the back of his brain, but the ride would be well worth it and with Ian nowhere in sight, he wouldn’t have to mind his reactions.  Cocaine was both bitter and sweet to him, carrying sugary hints of brown sugar and a bitterness similar to tonic water.  Anything white and powdery was always like that for him.  Coke also carried the lingering effects of everything becoming twice as intense. 

The rolled dollar bill was clenched tight between his fingertips as he held down one nostril, leaned over the counter and sniffed.  He could already taste the bittersweet as it rolled down the back of his throat, his head tilted back and his eyes fixed on the ceiling.  The pads of his thumb and index finger pinched his nostrils as the kitchen door slammed.  Mickey lowered his head slightly, his eyes landing on that familiar hue of crimson outlining broad shoulders.  Green eyes quickly connected with his blue ones as a grin played on lips Mickey didn’t remember looking so flush. 

Ian made a b-line for Mickey.  He brushed under his nose with his thumb as the red head made his way over.  Mickey inwardly groaned, the smell Ian wore so well already threatening.  And although never overly strong, his scent did just enough to send Mickey’s senses into a frenzy.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Ian said to Mickey as he propped his elbows on the counter, leaning forward. 

“Surprise, surprise.”  Mickey threw sarcasm on the table.  It was his best line of defense.  And it wasn’t that Ian was being threatening, at least not in a harmful sense, but his mere presence was something that could easily cause Mickey to unravel.  He sniffed again, this time not clear the coke out of his nose, but to purposely take in the smell of strawberry that Ian was giving off.  His eyes inadvertently dropped down to the red head’s lips before darting to counter.  Ian smirked at Mickey’s expression.

“You high?” Ian asked as he removed his elbows from the counter. 

“Not yet,” Mickey replied.  “Ay, why are you just gettin’ here?”  Mickey was eager to change the topic – anything to take Ian’s attention off of him.  He knew once the coke hit, he would more than lose control of his senses while being around Ian.

“Had to work late at the Kash N Grab.  Inventory.”  Ian’s eyes landed on the dollar bill still rolled up between Mickey’s fingers.  Remnants of powder still covered the tip.  He looked back at Mickey, before concentrating back on the dollar bill.

“What?  You wanna hit?” Mickey asked.

“Nah,” Ian began as he walked around the counter.  He stood a foot away from Mickey, looking at him too intently for Mickey to be comfortable.  “Stuff makes me crazy.  Could use some weed though.  Got any?”

“I do.”

“How much?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mickey responded as he reached inside his pocket.  He never gave his good weed out for free, and Kevin’s was a trade.  Ian was already making him do things out of the ordinary.

“Free?” Ian said through the biggest grin.

“For now.”  Jesus, what the hell did that mean?  “Outside.”  Mickey motioned for Ian to follow him outside.  They exited the kitchen and made their way onto the back porch.  Mickey sat on a crate as Ian sat on the top step.  He lined his back against the wood as he watched Mickey take out the weed and pour the contents into an empty Dutch.  Mickey didn’t know why, but he didn’t bother to ask Ian if he wanted to roll his own blunt, going ahead and doing it himself.  Ian didn’t blink not once as he watched him roll and lick the spliff, getting the shape just right.  He licked his lips a time or two as he watched the older boy in action, causing Mickey’s dick to twitch in his pants.

“Thanks,” Ian said in a low voice as he took the weed from Mickey.  Their fingers brushed and Mickey could’ve sworn he felt a shock of electricity from the brief contact.  Ian smiled and lit the blunt, the precarious flicker in his green eyes from the flame causing Mickey’s senses to dance.  The coke was starting to hit him, and the red that bounced off Ian seemed to radiate outward and wrap itself around Mickey.  Ian took a hit before offering some to the older boy.

“Nah, I’m good,” Mickey affirmed.  He knew he wouldn’t be smoking given the combo of the weed and coke would have sent him off the deep end.  Yet, he still decided to join Ian outside when he could have just given him the weed and left him to do the rest all by his lonesome.  It’s like he had to be around him.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes, Mickey staring at nothing in particular in the Gallagher backyard as he studied Ian in his periphery.  He could see the red head glance at him ever so often as he took deep, long drags off of the blunt.  Mickey could feel his stares.

“You come to the store a lot,” Ian said out of the blue.  Mickey turned his head towards him, a semi confused look spreading across his face.

“Yeah, so?”  Mickey didn’t understand why Ian said this and was beginning to get paranoid that maybe his sister’s pretend boyfriend was beginning to get the hints. 

“Just saying.  Because I didn’t see you come in today.”  So Ian actually looked for him on a daily basis.  Mickey didn’t know what this meant and before he gave himself the chance to figure it out, the smell of strawberry hit him with a right hook as Ian stood. 

“Had shit to do,” Mickey replied quickly as he rushed towards the door.  “Goin’ back to the party.”  He walked inside without turning around to look at Ian, who stood with a puzzled look on his face as the Milkovich boy hurriedly made his way into the mess of people.

Mickey pushed through a group of teens that were all more than tipsy, looking for someplace somewhat secluded in a dark corner where he wouldn’t be noticed.  He would just wait the rest of the party out, and maybe pass out wherever he was.  He officially didn’t want to be there anymore.  The coke was full force now, the different colors jumping off of people in the room like a psychedelic mosaic.  He found a chair in the corner of the room behind one of the loveseats.  He sat down as he surveyed the room, hoping for the life of him the Ian wouldn’t come in there anytime soon.  But he did.

The red head made his way over to Mandy, who was practically hugged up with Lip on one of the couches.  Her face was flush with pink, probably from the alcohol, more than likely from getting a taste of a Gallagher.  He grabbed a beer before plopping down next to them, his eyes nowhere near focused on them as they landed directly on Mickey.  He raised his eyebrows and grinned before taking a sip of his beer, the look on his face sending a rush of warmth down Mickey’s neck.  His blue eyes would have remained fixed on Ian, had it not been for his drunken mess of a sister jumping up on the coffee table and moving sloppily to the music.  Mickey inwardly groaned as he watched his little sister make a fool of herself.  He outwardly groaned when he saw the look of hunger in Lip’s eyes that made his stomach turn.

Little did he know he would experience a far worse sensation within minutes.

Leave it to Mandy to attract the most brazen and inebriated jerk off at the party.  She was on top of the world as she danced on the coffee table, her tight red dress inching further up as she moved to her own rhythm.  A hand practically jumped out of the crowd, groping her ass, causing her to stumble off of the table.  She screamed profanities at the guy as she got in his face, pointing her finger right between his eyes.  He grabbed her again, completely disregarding her protest.  Ian and Lip jumped up from the couch and stood around Mandy, hovering over her like protective big brothers.  Mickey practically flew over the loveseat as he charged at the guy, pushing him away from his sister.

“You wanna fuckin’ die?!” Mickey screamed in the guy’s face.  The guy threw up both hands, laughing as he did so, the smell of alcohol too strong on his breath.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there killer.  I was just having some fun,” the guy said as he continued to laugh.  Mickey squared his shoulders, ready to just end this fucking guy already, but before he could make a move, Ian chimed in.

“Go home Roger.  You’re too shitfaced to even be here.”  Ian stared at the guy, taking a few steps forward.  This time, the guy didn’t laugh.  Rather, his expression turned ice cold as he walked up to Ian, his face less than six inches from his.

“You mind your fucking business faggot.”

“Faggot?”  Ian chuckled to himself as he looked Roger straight in the eyes.  Mickey wasn’t sure what these two had against each other, but there was one thing he was certain of – the guy just called Ian a faggot, and the red head put up no dispute about it.

“You heard me,” Roger practically growled.

“Takes one to know one,” Ian spat.  “So why don’t you just go home and stop putting on a show for something you’re clearly not interested in.”  And with that said, Roger decided to strike.

A powerful blow hit Ian across the face, sending him stumbling backwards.  Mickey wished he hadn’t seen it, the impact creating a mirror effect on his own face.  It nearly knocked him off his feet.  Roger jumped on Ian, continuing hit after hit.  Mickey bit the inside of his cheek to keep from wailing, struggling to steady himself as he took each one of Ian’s punches.  His face throbbed and he was seeing stars.  He managed to gather himself, grabbing Roger off of Ian and eventually landing of few of his own punches.

At this point, Mickey saw nothing but red – and not the good kind.

He lost it.  Mickey didn’t quite understand why Ian getting hit sent him into somewhat of a frenzy.  It wasn’t like he never saw someone get hit, feeling their exact pain.  But it never made him angry.  Now, however, the fury in his gut overtook him, the outward signs his fists and the way they struck Roger in the face without relent.  Mandy managed to calm him down, screaming in his face to stop before he killed the guy – which he had every intention of doing.  He didn’t care if he knocked himself unconscious from the way he struck him repeatedly. 

But it wasn’t until Ian grabbed Mickey’s arm that he stopped hitting Roger.  It was instant.  A calm Mickey never felt before came over him, Ian’s fingertips radiating something strange into his skin.  A simple, _“Stop,”_ out of Ian’s mouth was all it took to make Mickey back down.  It was the first time a voice ever sent a sensation that settled in his chest, the heat that spread across it turning his neck a bright pink.  His concentration was fully absorbed by Ian, which was a terrible mistake, because Roger took a cheap shot and head butted the red head, not Mickey, sending him crashing to the floor.

This time, Mickey practically screamed.

Mandy’s eyes widened as she ran towards her brother, grabbing a napkin off of the coffee and pressed it into his nose that started bleeding.  The wind nearly escaped him as he watched Ian writhing in pain on the floor, gripping his nose which was spurting blood all over the floor.  But Roger wasn’t finished.  He took his boot and brought it down into Ian’s side, causing a guttural cry to escape Ian’s mouth – Mickey let out the same cry, gripping his other side before stumbling across the couch.  It all happened within seconds.  In that moment, Ian’s eyes connected with Mickey’s, the look in them a mixture of pain and confusion.  Before things escalated any further, Lip smashed an empty beer bottle across Roger’s head, knocking the guy out. 

“Jesus, fuck!” Lip screamed.  “Someone roll his ass outta here!”  Kevin and a few other guys came over and hoisted an unconscious Roger up before taking him outside.  They would dump him on the curb a few blocks over.

“You ok Mickey?” Mandy asked.  He didn’t respond, remaining crouched over the couch as he held his side.  He was breathing heavily. 

“What the fuck was that?” Lip asked as he helped Ian to his feet.

“A fight.  What did you think?” Mandy responded as she continued to try and get Mickey up.

“Not that,” Lip pressed as he walked towards her and Mickey.  He looked down at the Milkovich boy who was still unresponsive, his face buried in the couch.  “I’m talking about what happened to your brother.”  Mandy darted her eyes away from Lip, refusing to make eye contact.

“Don’t know,” she lied.  Mickey then stood slowly from the couch, revealing his face which was red with the blood from his nose.  He looked like he had taken a beating when he never actually got hit.  Feeling the incriminating stares, he grabbed his jacket and ran towards the door, not willing to explain what just happened.  His hand remained glued to his side.

He was halfway up the block when Ian had decided to take off behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel uh, so-so about this chapter. I feel like it's more of a filler to lead up to where I'm taking this story. Nevertheless, I hope you guys enjoy! I don't really have anything much to say here, except stay tuned (if you're still so interested). I plan to use synesthesia to it's fullest potential in the story ahead...lots of FEELS (literally).
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! :)


	3. Panic Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a travesty and he was a fool for thinking being around him would be a piece of cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter that pretty much prepares for what will happen in the next (so congrats if you breeze through). Sorry this took so long, but my flash drive ate this fic when this chapter was 80% done, and I had to start it over. It sucked doing it, but I hope I did the rewrite justice. :)

_Hard as steel on the outside – soft as filo dough on the inside.  He was unprepared for the heat of tonight’s showdown, his insides cooked through and paper thin.  Mickey hurled every obscenity underneath his breath as he watched his father and brothers try to beat a man into the middle of next week.  He was caught off guard, too busy trying to keep from passing out when Terry yelled it was his turn._

_“Mickey!” Terry shouted as his son.  When he was too slow to react, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him forward.  “Get your fuckin’ hits in!”_

_Mickey didn’t hesitate.  It was either get his hits in and bear the impact also, or have Terry knock him into the week after the one the guy on the ground was about to be knocked into.  The pain of another man shot through his body as he gnashed his teeth, simultaneously connecting his fist with his jaw.  “Ahh!” Mickey wailed as he hit.  Then another hit.  And another.  “Ahhhh!” he yelled again.  It was a cry from pain disguised as a war cry from him giving it his all.  But in all actuality, his all was being ripped from inside him with each strike._

_Terry then interjected, moving Mickey out of the way.  He hovered over the man, his eyes wild with a fury only a Milkovich was capable of harboring.  “And this is for good measure,” Terry spat before bringing his boot down into the man’s ribs._

_Mickey’s body shook with the sound of cracking bones.  He composed himself long enough to receive slaps on the back from Iggy, Nicky and Jamie, and a silent nod from Terry.  When they all disappeared around the bend of the building they were behind, dirty money clenched tight in their fists, Mickey finally let himself go as he ran behind a dumpster and vomited up his insides._

_~~~_

All Mickey could hear as he hobbled along the sidewalk was his father’s voice. 

_Next time you’ll take the lead.  It’s time._

He screamed expletives into the air as his hand placed firmly on his side squeezed pain on top of pain – on top of more pain.  If it weren’t for last night’s punches thrown and false battle cries, Mickey knew he would have been able to handle what just happened in the Gallagher living room with a lot more poise.  Instead, his performance was clumsy and far from graceful.  Now, the mere act of walking made his breath catch in his throat, the way it felt like mud making it hard to swallow down a decent mouthful of air.  He buckled over by the brick wall of a building and began to dry heave before straightening his back the best he could, continuing to walk his gimp stride.

“Looks like you could use some TLC honey,” a streetwalker in a tight, teal spandex dress said to him as he limped along.  She was joined by a friend, a tall, boney bawd in a black dress with smeared pink lipstick and scraped knees.  Mickey rolled his eyes, not paying the hookers any mind.  They looked like they would give a blowjob just to take a ride on the white horse.  And even if Mickey had the coke to give, he’d gladly pass.  “C’mon baby, we won’t bite,” she pressed.

“Not fuckin’ interested,” Mickey barked as he turned around.  “Now go find another potential dick to suck.”

The two prostitutes screwed up their faces, as if insulted, indignant huffs escaping their mouths.  This time the boney one opted to speak.  “You’re lucky we gave you the time of day little guy!” she yelled as she waved her finger from side to side.  “Because you look like shit.”

“Likewise,” Mickey spat, still trying to hop along.  The two women looked him up and down, their fake leather jackets hanging sloppily off of their shoulders.  He scrambled towards an alleyway, the stares he was getting from the prostitutes walking the beat making him feel dissected.  “Fuck!” he screamed as he leaned up against the wall beneath a fire escape.  This was all getting really old and Mickey contemplated becoming a hermit for the rest of his life.  Like Terry would ever let that happen.

Vibrations went off in his jeans pocket, causing him to fumble and grab his phone the best he could.  It was a text from Mandy.

_[ **Mandy 12:01am:** Where’d you run off to?  R u ok?]_

Mickey thought about ignoring the text, but he knew how relentless his sister could get if she felt something was even slightly wrong.  He removed his protective hand from over his too sore and tired ribs, his fingers tapping shakily on the screen.

_[ **Mickey 12:05am:** i’m fine]_

His phone buzzed again.

_[ **Mandy 12:06am:** Ya, but where r u?  R u home?]_

_[ **Mickey 12:08am:** don’t worry bout it]_

Mickey shoved his phone back into his pocket just as another buzz went off as he leaned back against the alley wall.  He’d deal with Mandy’s control issues later. 

Exhaustion overtook his body, the phantom bruises hurting worse than real ones.  He was in the middle of having a major _fuck my life_ moment just as the sound of footsteps interrupted him feeling sorry for himself.  His eyes remained closed, the thought that maybe this mystery person could be a mugger not even crossing his mind.  And quite frankly, Mickey couldn’t give two fucks if it was Jeepers Creepers coming to gouge out his eyes, because he’d gladly give them to him.  Mickey let out a long breath, the individual getting closer to him.

He knew who it was without having to acknowledge they were there.  If his senses were right, and they always were, no announcement was needed, because Mickey could _feel_ it.

“Are you ok?” a familiar voice asked.  Mickey felt the pain in his side ease slightly as the sound of Ian’s voice causing that recognizable warmth to spread across his chest.  He was so faded.  The older boy finally opened his blue eyes and turned to face his shadow – because Ian had certainly followed him like one.

“The fuck you follow me for?” Mickey bit.  He completely disregarded Ian’s question.  And he wasn’t ok, not by a long shot.

The red head flinched from the sound of Mickey’s voice, rough and vulnerable at the same time, lined with something pretty close to falling apart.  He nervously shoved his hands into his pockets as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.  “Sorry if I startled you.  It’s just…I just…”  Ian trailed off, scratching aimlessly at the back of his neck.  His green eyes slowly scanned over Mickey’s face, before making their way to his disheveled coat and his hand planted firmly at his side.  Mickey tried his hardest not to fall into the vibrant red that was now exuding off of him as the younger boy navigated him as if trying to find his way – somewhere.  Ian’s eyes finally landed back on Mickey’s face.  And once his eyes caught hold of Mickey’s, he couldn’t look away if he tried.  “I came after you when you bolted,” Ian finally spat out.

Feeling his walls beginning to collapse, Mickey quickly steeled himself.  The scent lingering under his nose was making the task anything but a simple one.  “Look,” he began as he straightened himself against the wall, “one, you can’t ever startle me, and two, if you didn’t know, now is a good time to learn it’s never wise to follow me.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Ian countered.  That somewhat caught Mickey off guard.  This time, he had to look away from his eyes, the look in them too much for his senses to handle.  The coke from earlier was still coursing through his system, and he knew it would only be a matter of moments before they started to go haywire, his body too weak to fight against what his brain was screaming at it to do.  “Besides,” Ian continued, “you looked pretty beat up, for lack of a better term, when you ran out.”

For lack of a better term?  Mickey thought for a second, not really wanting to sound defensive when he opened his mouth, but Ian’s comment made him wonder if the red head was one of those observant fuckers who always put two and two together, never missing a beat with things.  He quickly threw the thought out, because his own family still didn’t quite know what he had, and they lived with it.  “Don’t know what you mean,” Mickey responded as he straightened his spine.  He didn’t want to come off as humped over and weak, despite the fact that he was all of the above at the moment. 

“It’s weird,” Ian said under his breath, not really directing the comment towards Mickey.  He scratched the back of his head again as if thinking.

“Come again?” Mickey replied to the remark not meant for him to hear.

Ian jolted his head up, his lips pressed in concentration.  “Um, it’s just,” he started as he walked up closer to Mickey.  The decreased distance between them made the older boy twitch.  He didn’t want him to get too close, afraid that being closer would make him truly _see_ him.  Ian’s eyes trailed over Mickey’s face for a second too long.  “I didn’t see you get hit, but you…ah, or I should say your nose started bleeding.  And – “

“My nose bleeds sometimes; it’s no big fucking deal.”  Mickey felt himself getting antsy, and he had to move and get out of there.  He zipped past Ian who was still looking as if he was trying to solve the Southside’s biggest mystery – and quite frankly, he was. 

Mickey walked – and so did Ian.  The older boy let out a long huff that turned into a hiss as he hopped along, the pain in his side feeling like a mini explosion.  He stopped and propped himself up against the wall with one hand being not-so-subtle with his discomfort, Ian also throwing out subtlety with personal space as he placed his hand on his shoulder.  “You ok Mick?  Can I walk you home?”

“The fuck do I look like?  I can walk myself,” Mickey bit as he shoved Ian’s hand off of him.  He tried his hardest to ignore the current that went through his fingers at the contact, and the look of disappointment on the kid’s face when he rejected his help.  If only he knew Mickey felt the exact opposite of how he was acting.  Feeling almost guilty, Mickey straightened his back, making himself look less like Quasimodo and turned to face Ian.  He was looking down at his shoes now, the sight not nearly as pathetic to Mickey as it was fucking cute – and God forbid if this kid could read minds because Mickey doesn’t say, think or do anything _cute._ “Look, I’m alright.”

Ian’s eyes lifted until they connected with Mickey’s.  His eyes widened before narrowing, his feet slowly shuffling forward.  Mickey thought the kid looked at him as if he’d just grown an extra nose.  “Oh shit…uh…just, hold right there,” Ian said nervously.  Mickey wasn’t one for following orders, but he listened and didn’t move.  Ian began rummaging through his jeans pockets, and let out a faint noise that sounded like relief as he pulled out some tissues.  His eyebrows were stitched in concentration when he looked back up.

“You plan on cryin’ soon?” Mickey snickered as he pointed his chin towards Ian’s hand full of tissue.  Because what Southside kid actually carried around that type of shit?

Ian smiled that infectious smile as he began to move closer to the older boy.  His face then got more serious the closer he got, his hand rising ever so slowly as he continued to get closer.  It was as if he was making sure his movements were slow and calculated, careful not to scare off the guy in front of him.  He then pressed the wad of tissue into Mickey’s nose, causing him to flinch.  “Actually, your nose is bleeding,“ Ian began as he continued to press, “but you know, a guy never knows when he might need to shed a tear.”  The red head let out a sarcastic chuckle that sent a wave of electricity through Mickey’s entire body – the first time it had ever happened.  The sensation was almost overwhelming.  Ian’s smile then returned, and Mickey felt himself leaning into the touch, before quickly jolting out of – whatever the fuck _this_ was.

“I can do it myself,” Mickey said coldly as he practically snatched the tissue out of Ian’s hand.  This time however, the look of defeat did not cross the younger boy’s face, rather it was something way too content for comfort.  “I gotta run,” Mickey said suddenly before turning around.

“You sure you can even do that right now?” Ian mocked.  The kid was a real smartass, and Mickey liked it.  But he wouldn’t dare admit that out loud.  The older boy simply scoffed, continuing to walk, more like limp away.  “See you around.  I’m working the Kash N Grab tomorrow if you wanna stop by.”

Mickey let out a snort as he hobbled along.  What was that, a fucking invitation?  He sucked his teeth, outwardly amused and dismissive at the kid, but inwardly eager to see him again.

~~~

“Are danish pastries, you know, Danish?”

As much as Mickey wanted to give his brother the benefit of the doubt, that wasn’t the weed talking – it was authentic Iggy talk.  He watched as his brother sat on top of the kitchen counter, eyes squinted and red-rimmed as full-on mega munchies took effect.  Iggy smiled stupidly as he studied the cheese pastry clutched between his fingers, residue already in the corners of his mouth.  “It’s called a fuckin’ _danish_ isn’t it?” Mickey answered sarcastically as he reloaded the Glock 22 on the kitchen table.

“Don’t mean it’s Danish,” Iggy said through a mouthful of food. 

Mandy rolled her eyes at her brothers as she poured a cup of coffee.  “It’s actually Austrian you losers,” she said as she turned around.  “It got its name in Denmark because that’s where they first started being served.” 

“So then it’s Danish,” Mickey countered.

“No,” Mandy challenged as she began to walk towards the living room, “Austrian cooks brought the recipe from their homeland and began making them in Denmark because they didn’t know how to make the local cuisine.”

“Ahhh, look who pays attention in class.  Nerd,” Iggy snorted.

Mickey raised his eyebrows as he watched his supposedly dumb sister waltz off, her middle finger raised high in the air.  Mandy still managed to surprise him after all these years, spitting out random facts that somehow managed to stick in her brain from time to time.  Iggy simply laughed before shoving in another mouthful of danish.  The thing could be from Mars, and he wouldn’t give a fuck, just as long as it tasted good.  Mickey tried to forget the idiocy across from him as he held up the gun, wiping it down.  A loud thunderous boom came out of the living room, followed by the sound of heavy, pounding footsteps.  Mickey didn’t have to guess who it was, because that symphony was specific to the one and only Terry.

The man stormed into the kitchen, his t-shirt soaked with sweat and the stench of meth radiating off of his coat.  He looked like a wild animal, his teeth bared and eyes crazily scanning the perimeter.  “Fucking beaners running my clients with their supposedly supreme Mexican shit!” Terry screamed as he flung the refrigerator door open, grabbing a beer.  He frowned as he realized it wouldn’t be strong enough and shoved it back closed before opening the cabinet near Iggy, nearly taking his head off.  He grabbed a bottle of vodka and opened it, brining the alcohol to his lips, taking large gulps.  He slammed the bottle on the counter after having his fill, subsequently slamming his fist there also.  “Fuck!  They’re costing me money that I can’t afford to lose!”

Mickey’s stomach nearly ran away from him, the sound of his father’s voice causing waves and rips that nearly made him nauseous.  He didn’t have to ask his dad what the problem was, because from the sound of it, the local Mexican dealers were selling their heroin to Terry’s regulars.  Mickey heard from a few of his brother’s buddies that they were giving samples to junkies, allowing them a taste, which eventually turned into full-on sales.  The fuckers called it “Premo,” short for the Spanish word for supreme, “Supremo,” and for the past month, Terry and his guys were losing profits to their supposedly better grade of smack. 

“Don’t worry pops, we’ll get those motherfuckers,” Iggy commented through yet another mouthful of pastry.

“We will huh?” Terry asked as he moved in closer to Iggy, his wild eyes landing on the food his son was chomping away at mercilessly.  His face twisted in disgust as he watched.  “You say that shit while you sit on my counter stuffing your face, when you should have already been out there beating these animals to my fucking clients!” Terry screamed in his face.  He slapped the remaining pastry out of Iggy’s hand before shoving him off of the kitchen counter.  “Get your ass off of the damn counter!  Move!”

Iggy nearly lost his footing, threatening another face plant on the linoleum.  Surprisingly, he caught himself, the high obviously not screwing with his already shaky balance.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes a little wider and glazed with a fear only his father could produce as he stared.  “We were just about to go out there,” Iggy defended.

“ _About to_ ain’t gonna get me my money back,” Terry snarled.  He then focused his attention on Mickey sitting silent at the kitchen table.  Mickey had to avert his eyes for a second, the green color that usually radiated off his father, too thick and daunting to look at for an extended period of time.  It always got like this when he was pissed, and if Mickey stared long enough, hard enough, the green would almost grow arms, the tendrils reaching out towards him as if threatening to strangle him.  Terry glanced at the Glock on the table, wiping beads of sweat off of his forehead.  “Strap up,” he spat.  “Both of you.”

“What’s the occasion?” Iggy asked, eager to make up for his delinquency and to please his father.  Mickey on the other hand only stared, already knowing what Terry was cooking up.  The bastard resorted to robbing stores when the drug money ran low from time to time.

“If you gotta ask, stay your ass here,” Terry huffed as he grabbed the Glock 22 off of the table.  Mickey made no qualms about the fact his dad just grabbed the piece he was cleaning for the past fifteen minutes to carry himself. 

“Store run!” Iggy yelped excitedly.  “Or more like robbery.”  He went to the armoire in the living room where all of the guns were kept, immediately grabbing two of them – one for him and the other for Mickey.  He always got stupidly excited before they robbed stores.  Mickey however, was never excited nor impressed – it was just another day, another hustle.  Being a Milkovich made you immune to outings such as this, which is why he always wondered if Iggy was missing a few screws in his head.  The dope always got hyped for the SSDD’s – same shit, different day.

“Stop jumping around like a fucking monkey and grab the ski masks,” Terry ordered Iggy.  “And you,” he directed his attention towards a rather solemn Mickey, “get the molasses outta your ass and get ready.”  Mickey did as he was ordered, taking note of the twitch in his father’s hands.  The man was on a warpath. 

~~~

It didn’t take the trio long to reach their target store.  In fact – the trip was a little too quick, and the surroundings, way too familiar.  Mickey blinked his eyes as if they suddenly had become infested with trash.  He felt his heart nearly jump in his throat when he recognized the store they were walking quickly towards from the back alleyway.  The fucking Kash N Grab.  _Oh shit._ Mickey began to wrack his brain and think of any excuse to get them to rob another store – any store but this one.

“Ay, why the hell are we hittin’ the Kash N Grab?” Mickey asked, trying to mask the nervousness in his voice.  “This is way too local, and we’ll be made.”

Terry stopped dead in his tracks, slowly pivoting, the fury in his eyes still piercing, even through the eye holes of the ski mask.  He let out a deep, frustrated breath as he inched closer to his son.  “You pussyin’ out?” he asked as he placed their faces inches apart.  “I don’t have time to go across town just to do a quick hold up!  It doesn’t matter how local we are, and we won’t get made.  Even if we did, towel head in there won’t say a word, unless he wants to fucking die.”

“Yeah Mickey, and that’s what the ski masks are for,” Iggy interjected, speaking as if he had just discovered the cure for cancer.  Mickey shoved him in the side of his head.

“Shut the fuck up.  No one asked your opinion.”

Terry practically growled as he shoved both of his sons.  “Be quiet!  Both of you!” he yelled as he forced them forward. 

Mickey couldn’t help but feel the pangs of utter panic as they got closer, coming around the bend.  He hoped Ian either didn’t start work yet, or called in sick, but the boy was one of those ethical fuckers with good work habits.  Mickey knew this, because every time he went in the store, the red head was there, perched atop the chair he favored behind the register like he owned the joint.  You saw him more than who supposedly ran the place. 

Mickey felt a little more than relieved when he saw the owner, Kash, behind the register counting cans in a box.  If the universe actually liked him, perhaps Ian was home sick and not in the back somewhere being the good contributor to society that he was.  He felt a rush of hefty adrenaline course through his veins as Terry bolted through the door first, gun already pointed.

“Hands up!  Empty the fucking register towel head!” Terry screamed as he scurried towards a now frightened Kash.  The guy was an oaf, dropping the can he held in his hand, nearly knocking over the shelves of cigarettes behind him as he stumbled backwards.  “I need you balanced shithead.  Move!”

Kash’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he hurriedly opened the register.  “Take whatever you want,” he said shakily as he took out the cash, tossing it in the bag Iggy was holding open.  “Please don’t hurt me.  I have a family.”

“Did I ask for your life story?!” Terry barked.  “Just put the cash in the bag and keep your damn mouth shut before I blow your fucking lips off.  Now hurry it!”

Mickey stood with his gun aimed at the store owner, his stomach doing backflips as he crossed his toes hoping to whoever it was up there in the clouds that Ian wasn’t there.  He blinked his eyes multiple times as he watched Kash nearly shake out of his skin, beads of sweat falling down his face.  His color was yellow – go figure.  And while the guy was always spineless, letting Terry steal from the store, and him as well on occasion, Mickey couldn’t help but take note of the irony in the color.  Iggy laughed ridiculously, like some madman, as he watched the cash drop into the book bag. 

“The fuck is going on?” a voice surfaced from the back.  So the universe despised Mickey.  He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath, as a warmth from _that_ voice spread across his chest, causing him to nearly shutter.  His mind was telling him to bolt, but his feet remained planted, the resulting wrath of Terry something his body didn’t dare anticipate.  He side-eyed Ian through the ski mask, almost dropping his gun as he looked at the wide-eyed teenager. “Kash?”

“Stay right there Ian, don’t move,” Kash pleaded.  Ian moved as if he was about to take a step forward, before deciding against it.

Terry looked at Mickey, and motioned with his head for him to get on Ian.  “Get over there!  Get on him!” he screamed at his son.  Mickey hesitated and obviously didn’t move fast enough, because a second later Terry was grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and shoving him forward.  His feet were like cinderblocks, his movements slow and hesitant as he motioned towards the red head.  “Aw Christ!  What’s the matter with you huh?”  Terry then turned his attention towards his other son.  “You!  Stick the kid!” Terry yelled at Iggy.  He shoved the bag into Mickey’s hands after Iggy handed it over.  “Hold the fucking bag since it seems that’s all you’re good for right now.”  Mickey gladly took the bag, his eyes focusing on the way Kash’s hands trembled – anything to keep him from looking at Ian.

“Stand the fuck still Merida!” Iggy yelled at Ian as he pointed his gun towards him.  So apparently he was now well versed in Disney Princesses.  Mickey took his chances and looked over at the red head.  If only he stuck to his original plan and focused on shaky hands.  “I said hold still!” Iggy barked just before he pistol whipped Ian across the face.  The red head fell backwards from the impact of the gun, letting out a howl that was sure to send Mickey off the sensory deep end.  The dark haired boy nearly fell forward, the sting across his face like hot fire, losing his footing for a split second – a split second too long.  Terry snarled, looking at him as if he was weak, right before turning his attention to Iggy.

“Calm yourself and let’s get the fuck outta here!” he yelled at Iggy.  And with that said, Mickey was the first one out.  Curiosity got the best of him as he looked over his shoulder as he exited, seeing Kash immediately run towards Ian and help him up before bringing him in for an embrace.  Mickey’s insides bubbled at the sight, because the embrace was far too personal and it made him angry.

Terry grabbed the bag of cash out his hand when they jumped in the car.  Iggy drove, leaving tire marks as the speeded off, a trail of smoke lingering behind the car.  Mickey felt as if he was shrinking in the backseat, his face stinging and his shame rearing itself at his sub par performance in the Kash N Grab.  Terry turned around and faced him in the back, his lips curled down as his eyebrows furrowed.  “The fuck is with you, huh?! He screamed at Mickey.  “I swear, the older you get the more of a pussy you become.”

Mickey averted his eyes from his father’s, casting them out the window as he watched the houses melt together and turn into blurs as Iggy sped.  “Just off my game today,” he said unconvincingly.  “Sorry.”

“Whatever,” Terry huffed before turning back around.  Mickey was surprised he didn’t get a fist to the face or more of a tongue lashing.  But he knew Terry was too preoccupied reveling in the money they just stole.  He watched as his father poked through the cash in the book bag, practically salivating at the sight.  It wasn’t much from what Mickey could see, but money was money to Terry, and the rush he got from stealing it was an added bonus.

“Woo!” Iggy howled into the ceiling of the car.  “Did you see how I whipped that little red headed motherfucker?!”  Mickey felt himself get angry all over again as he watched his brother brag about the damage he’d inflicted.

“Shut the fuck up,” Terry spat as he continued to count the money.  “No one’s impressed.  Next time show some damn self-control and then brag.”  Iggy shrunk a little into his seat, his excitement suddenly cut with the knife of Terry’s words.  For the first time in a long time, Mickey actually agreed with his father.

He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip as he looked back out the window, his mind instantly going back to the way Ian looked so helpless.  He closed his eyes, the color red practically stained behind his eyelids.

~~~

Mickey nearly jumped off the couch at the sound of the front door slamming.  Since the robbery earlier, he was extra sensitive, every sound sending shocks through his hands and feet.  He caught a wave of purple as Mandy flew by in her work uniform, bursting into her room.  His ears stood at attention as he heard her cursing and talking wildly to herself.  What started as monotone mumbling slowly climaxed to almost yelling.

“I can’t believe this shit!” she yelled as she fumbled through things in her room.  Mickey listened as the sounds of her drawers opening and closing resonated into the living room.  He wondered what the hell was wrong with her.  After a few minutes, she came storming out of her room, now in jeans and sneakers as she finished pulling her t-shirt over her head.  She never cared about bearing her goods to her brothers and Mickey was glad she actually wore a bra today.

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” Mickey asked as he watched Mandy grab her coat.

“I’m going out.  I’ll be back,” she said, ignoring his question.

“Ay!  Did you hear what I asked?” he barked as he stood.  “The hell is wrong with you?”

Mandy turned around to face her brother, her hand already on the doorknob.  “I’m going to check on my best friend if you must know,” she said with the biggest attitude.  She then opened the door and began to head down the porch steps.  Mickey felt his stomach drop.  He knew exactly why she was going to check on Ian.  He followed her to the porch, guilt slowly rising in his chest as the scenario from earlier played in his head.

“Something happen?” he asked, trying his best to sound ignorant of what was going on.

“Kash N Grab got robbed and one of those motherfuckers pistol whipped Ian.  While he insists he’s ok, I’m going anyway.”  She waltzed off, still talking to herself.  “I swear Ian can’t seem to catch a break these last few days,” she said loud enough for her brother to hear.  He chewed his bottom lip furiously as he watched his sister practically run off.  Ian not able to catch a break?

Mickey knew the feeling.

~~~

It took five days for Mickey to work up the nerve to go back to the Kash N Grab.  He would have gone sooner, but seeing Ian in school with a black and blue mark across the left side of his face made him change his mind – or it could have been because he was somewhat of a jerk to him.  It was probably the latter more than the bruising reminder that he’d robbed his place of work.  He’d nearly walked into an open locker when the red head spotted him between classes and waved as he jogged towards him. 

 

_“You didn’t come to the store the next day,” Ian said to Mickey with eyes almost puppy-dog like._

_“Yeah, well, didn’t know I was invited.  Besides, I uh…” Mickey trailed off, his attention suddenly going to the bruise across Ian’s cheek, “got held up.”_

_“I know the feeling,” Ian responded, looking towards the floor.  Mickey had to pretend as if he didn’t hear that.  “You know, you still could’ve come by.  I was working late and – “_

_Mickey cut him off, not wanting him to finish his sentence, because essentially, it sounded as if the kid wanted to be something like a friend.  “Look, I don’t know who the fuck told you we were friends, but we’re not so,” Mickey started as he looked away from the look on Ian’s face, “stop looking for me.”_

So yeah, Mickey had been an asshole to Ian for no legit reason.  Now here he was, making his way to the Kash N Grab, nervous as hell and trying to tell himself this was no big fucking deal.  He mulled over in his mind how he would act as he made his way to the convenience store.  It was stupid to him really, because thinking about shit like this was never a part of his daily routine. 

When he arrived, he opened the swinging door to the store almost cautiously, inwardly laughing at himself because caution in his book, was for pussies.  As he entered, that familiar flash of red was behind the counter, a magazine in hand, perched atop his usual chair as he chewed his bottom lip in concentration.  He looked up at the sound of the bell ringing against the swinging door, his green eyes initially bright, until he took note of his visitor.  The sparkle in them slowly faded as he looked Mickey dead in the face.

Mickey walked by, making sure to stick his chest out a little more and square his shoulders, because he didn’t care if the red head’s feelings were hurt, he didn’t.  If only his body would listen to what his mind was failing to will it to do, because Ian smelled too good to be true.  It was a travesty and he was a fool for thinking being around him would be a piece of cake.  Mickey rubbed the tip of his nose as he walked past, trying his best to look unnerved and as bad boy as possible.  But he could feel those eyes burning the side of his face and the facade as he went straight to where the Pringles were kept.

And if the universe didn’t already make its dislike for him clear, the store was out of barbecue Pringles.

“Ay, you’re out of barbecue Pringles,” Mickey called out to Ian.  The red head didn’t answer right away.  Instead, he leaned back in his chair like some big bad boss, and raised a brow to the older boy.  He was fucking with him.  “You hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I did.  We’re out.  Try another flavor,” Ian responded dryly before focusing back on his magazine.

“Fine,” Mickey barked, grabbing a can of plain.  He didn’t care for any other flavors too tough, but he refused to walk out of the store defeated by the sassy mood Ian was obviously in.  He went to the coolers and grabbed a strawberry soda, before changing his mind and grabbing a Pepsi.  He had made up his mind before making his way to the front counter that he would opt for grape Bubblicious instead of strawberry.

He aimlessly placed his items on the counter before grabbing a pack of grape Bubblicious.  Ian eyed his items as if trying to decipher some sort of puzzle.  “Not the usual?” he asked.

“Nope,” Mickey began as he crossed his arms, “changing it up.”

“Mmhmm,” Ian mumbled as he started ringing up his items.  Mickey then took notice of the magazine he was previously engrossed in – it was one of his favorite gun magazines. 

“The fuck you know about guns?” Mickey asked Ian as he rung him up, his face nothing short of uninterested.  He turned his head slowly to face the older boy, placing the soda on the counter before leaning back and folding his arms.

“I know enough,” the red head answered flatly. 

“Elaborate.”

“I only elaborate with friends, and well, you know – we’re not friends.”  Ian had the smuggest smirk across his lips, and although Mickey hated when anyone tried to sass him, the look on the younger boy heightened his senses, the colors in the store suddenly melting together in one elaborate medley.  Everything jumped out at him, his skin tingling.  And suddenly, it dawned on him – he was aroused.

Mickey tried his best to play it cool.  “Guess you know nothing then.”  He must have struck a nerve with the red head, because he sang like a bird after that.

“Nothing?” Ian began as he stood out of his chair.  “I’ll tell you what nothing is.  Let’s just say I can disassemble and reassemble a rifle in under a minute, and my aim?  I can hit a freckle with an M16 from a mile away.”

The sudden roughness in Ian’s voice made the hairs on the back of Mickey’s neck stand at attention.  He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the counter as he stared directly into the younger boy’s eyes.  “You wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

“You know a place where I can do that?”

“Yeah.”

Ian chuckled as he sat back down, glancing up through his lashes at Mickey as he went back to ringing up his items.  “I get off at 9:30.”

“Good.  I’ll meet you here at that time,” Mickey confirmed.  He nearly recanted what he said when he realized he just made plans with Ian.  And the look on the red head’s face was more than satisfied with the outcome, the smug-as-shit smile creeping over his lips again as if he had the whole thing planned.  He didn’t respond to Mickey, only finished ringing up his items, the grin on his face more of an answer than any words would actually be.

“That’ll be $6.00 even,” Ian said as he looked at Mickey.  The older boy pulled out some crumpled bills, nearly fumbling to count the money.  Ian held out his hand on the counter, his green eyes never leaving Mickey’s face, and instead of placing the money on the counter like last time, he placed it in Ian’s open palm.

That familiar current from the night of the party returned in his fingertips at the contact, and with that he drew his hand back, almost as if bitten.  “See ya later,” Mickey said as nonchalant as possible.  He turned to walk away, but stopped at the sound of his name.

“Hey Mick?” Ian called out before he got five feet away from the counter.  The older boy turned, nearly getting hit in the face with something the red head threw at him.  Good thing his reflexes were sharp – being Terry’s son kept him keen, giving him more than enough chances to sharpen them.  He caught the item that was thrown at him and looked in his hand, his eyes narrowing at the wrapper.  Strawberry Bubblicious.  He felt his face get warm as he looked back up at Ian who made his eyebrows dance at him.  “See ya,” he said confidently.

Mickey said nothing, only turned around to walk out, already popping a piece in his mouth before exiting.  He wasn’t sure what the bubble gum thing was about, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to find out.

~~~

It was only three hours until Ian was scheduled to get off work when Mickey left, but the passing time felt more like ten.  He must have changed his shirt a thousand times, before putting back on the one he had on originally.  He didn’t want Ian to think he was trying to look halfway decent for him.  And this wasn’t a date.  His fingers hurt from playing Grand Theft Auto for two hours straight, Mandy coming in and joining him during the last hour. 

His sister was an observant bitch.  Her eyes studied him intently as he drank three beers straight, the abuse he was putting his bottom lip through with his teeth an indicator that he was nervous as shit.  “Why the hell are so antsy?” Mandy asked as she sat next to her brother on the couch.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly.  “Ay, what time is it?” he deflected.

Mandy knitted her eyebrows together, softening them as her eyes lit up.  “You sneaky little fucker.  You have a date?!”

“The hell I don’t,” Mickey bit as he stood.  “Forget it, I’ll find out the time myself.  In that moment, he cursed his father for never putting up clocks in the living room.  He waltzed into his room and glanced at the clock – 9:15pm.  He came back out into the living room, grabbed his coat and headed for the door.  “I’m goin’ out.”

“Where you going to?” Mandy nosed.  “Or should I say _who_ are you going to?”  She laughed as she watched her brother walk out the door, his farewell a straight middle finger behind his head.

Mickey got to the Kash N Grab at 9:45pm because his route was interrupted by one of Terry’s clients looking for a hit.  When Mickey told the junkie he didn’t have anything on him, the bastard tried to get one up on him by saying he was about to go “Premo.”  Usually Mickey didn’t give a fuck about the peons his father sold to, but he was already on edge, and slightly passed buzzed from the beer.  So he threatened the scumbag, before giving him one swift kick in the ass.  He rubbed at the slight throb in his own after that.

Ian was leaning against the outside of the store, one of his legs bent at the knee with his foot planted on the wall behind him as he smoked a cigarette.  The light blue smoke that smelled like cotton candy to Mickey didn’t hold a candle to the whiff of strawberry he quickly got as he approached the red head.  The kid side-eyed Mickey once he was close, throwing the cigarette into the cement before crushing it out with his sneaker.

“You’re late,” Ian said smugly. 

“Something came up,” Mickey countered.  “So you can stand there all night and continue to bitch like a little girl about me being fifteen minutes late, or you can follow me.”

Ian got the point and smirked as he stood up straight.  “Lead the way.”

Mickey expected the red head to be real chatty while they walked, but he was rather quiet.  And each time he turned around, the younger boy’s eyes were always fixed directly on him, the green seeming to glow in the shitty Southside street lights. 

They arrived at the top of an abandoned building about fifteen minutes later, Ian finally deciding to run his mouth.  “So where are the guns?” he asked as he looked around him studying his surroundings.  He took in the sight of the graffiti on the walls, the teddy bear missing an eye on top of a can getting his attention the most.  It was littered with bullet holes, and Ian thought for a second how sad the thing looked.

“Stole that shit from my sister last year,” Mickey said to Ian as he made his way to a hole in the wall.  He removed a heavy board from in from of it, subsequently taking out two .22 caliber guns.

“I’m sorry?” Ian asked confused.  He smiled at the sight of the guns as Mickey walked towards him.

“The teddy bear,” Mickey answered.  “I know it’s fucking scary looking and what had your attention.”

Ian laughed as he took one of the guns out of Mickey’s hand.  “Yeah, that shit looks weird.  But it’s a target,” he said as he immediately took his stance, cocked the pistol and aimed. 

“You move fast,” Mickey snorted.

“That I do.”  Ian shot a side glace towards Mickey, the corners of his lips slowly turning up as he focused back forward.  He closed one of his eyes and concentrated, biting his bottom lip.  A loud _bang_ rang out as he shot, the bullet hitting the creepy teddy bear square in the other eye.  “Now it has no eyes,” Ian said with a cocky grin.

Mickey felt his dick twitch as he swallowed a lump that felt like the size of a golf ball down.  Ian turned and faced him, his eyes hooded, his bottom lips still between his teeth.

“Step aside,” Mickey said, his voice already husky.  He lifted his gun, his technique less precise that Ian’s, quicker and less calculated – true Southside thug form.  He fired his weapon, the bullet hitting a few inches below where Ian shot.

“Not bad.”  Ian folded his arms as he studied Mickey, his arm muscles more than grabbing his attention.  It was grabbing his dick.

“How’d you learn to shoot like that?” Mickey asked.

“ROTC.  Been in it for two years.  I want to be an officer in the Marines one day,” Ian beamed.

“Don’t they get shot first?”  Ian laughed at Mickey’s remark, the sound echoing in Mickey’s ears.  The red head tilted his head back slightly as he laughed, and Mickey took a mental note of how his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly when he did that.  He didn’t feel himself staring, Ian catching it as he leveled his head and stared intently in Mickey’s face.  A flash of Ian’s red nearly hit Mickey in the face as he backed away, and made his way over to a broken window on the rooftop, propping himself against the brick wall.

He took out a pack of cigarettes as Ian silently made his way over, the awkward glances they just exchanged still sticking to his eyes.  “Can I have one of those?” Ian asked.  Mickey handed him one, before tossing him the lighter.  Ian lit the cigarette, Mickey once again forgetting about his eyes as he stared at the way the red head’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked the nicotine.  “See something you like?” Ian said suddenly.

The comment caught Mickey off guard, and he nearly fumbled over his words as he choked out a muffled, “Excuse me?”

“Ah, nothing,” Ian pulled back.  “You are a pretty good shot,” he quickly changed the direction of the conversation.  “But you could use some fine tuning.”

“Fine tuning?”  Mickey let out a huge snort, smoke shooting out of his nose.  He was certain he resembled an angry bull.  “And who’s gonna do that, you?”

Ian smiled that shit eating grin again, straightening his back a bit more before walking closer to the older boy.  “Hold up your gun and aim it,” he said sternly.  Without hesitating, Mickey held up the gun, putting on his best thug pose as he aimed.  He flinched slightly as he felt Ian’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and the universe decided to full on fuck him this time as a mosaic of red and green hit him in the face.  He tightened his jaw, trying his best to mask that he was enjoying Ian’s touch.  “Straighten your wrist, and lift the gun a little higher riiiiight, there,” Ian instructed as he lifted Mickey’s arms slightly from his elbow.  “Tighten your elbow.”

Mickey did just that.  “Ok Gallagher, I see the difference,” he said as he continued to aim.  He was caught off guard when Ian moved in close, practically whispering in his ear.

“Now fire,” the red head said seductively inches from his ear.  Mickey arbitrarily fired, nearly dropping the gun on the ground.  He turned his face towards Ian’s, and before he could get a word out, the kid was pressing him up against the wall.  Mickey would have shot anyone else, but instead he acquiesced as he felt Ian slowly remove the gun from his hand.  Their faces were an inch apart.  And fuck, even Ian’s breath smelled sweet.

Ian slowly ran his hand down Mickey’s chest before making his way to his jeans.  He began to fumble with the zipper, his eyes hooded.  Mickey felt like he was melting into the brick behind him.  Ian had gotten his jeans button undone, snapping Mickey out of the colorful fog he was in.  In almost a panic, Mickey pushed Ian off of him.

“The fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked, his voice hoarse.  He was half hard and half scared out of his mind.  Ian frowned as if confused before moving back in slowly.  He stopped when their bodies were about a foot away.  He studied Mickey’s face, the way he did that night he followed him, and let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, you’re a panic button,” Ian ignored Mickey’s question, saying something completely out of left field. 

“What?” Mickey asked.  If he wasn’t confused a few moments ago, he certainly was now.  And now was not the time for fucking riddles and shit.

Ian rubbed at the back of his own neck as he continued to eye Mickey without relent.  “Panic button?”  You know, like the one on car keys?”

“No, I don’t fucking know,” Mickey bit as he crossed his arms.  Of course he knew, but what the hell was he getting at?

Ian inched a bit closer, Mickey not moving.  “That red button on a car key with the word panic written across it is clearly indicative of what it’s meant for,” Ian began as he studied Mickey’s face, specifically his blue eyes and the way they darted nervously over his face.  “But you never know what the fuck it actually does because you’ve never pressed it.  So because it’s rarely needed, many drive their cars for years, seeing that button, but never really knowing the mystery behind it, until the day the actually press it.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows completely thrown.  He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip, his arms still folded.  “And I’m this how?”

“Your eyes Mickey.  They’re so sure sometimes, so clear, indicating exactly what you want.  But the mystery is still there, the slight fear.  So how will I ever know what really lies behind them, unless I try you?”  Ian closed the distance more and more, and if Mickey’s head wasn’t in such a cloud of his own senses, sound crossing over touch, sight crossing over smell, he would have stopped what was happening.

Truth is, his eyes wouldn’t have let him if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about what I am going to have take place over the next two chapters and felt it was good to end this one here. I didn't want to get into smut or a kiss (not saying it won't happen), but what does take place next may not be the predictable. I just hope you enjoyed this massive chapter, and stay tuned! I'm paranoid now, so this fic is saved in like three locations. I was lazy with the editing, but I feel I was somewhat efficient (I need a beta!). 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


	4. What Color...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what color am I?” he asked unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone who reads my writing, knows I don't really do smut lol. But after reading an interesting story of the residual effects of sex by a synesthete (I forget the person and article), I did some "light" smut I guess (mainly in first part)? I don't know what to call it, but I tried something here. Work with me. :) This is fairly unedited...
> 
> And just as an FYI (although it's obvious since I use this technique in 99.9% of my fics), the italicized portions are flashbacks.

_She’d practically attacked him, not giving him a chance to duck and dodge.  Not that he was going to – he had something to prove here._

_Mickey’s head hit the boys’ bathroom wall sharply, his eyes screwing shut as a dull pain crept into the back of his head at the place of impact.  This bitch was hungry and aggressive, and moved fast.  Angie Zago quickly dropped to her knees after practically throwing him into the tiles, fumbling impatiently with the zipper on his jeans.  She was breathing heavily, either from excitement or just being too fucking fat.  At the age of thirteen, she was already at corpulent linebacker status, but with tits._

_Mickey twisted his hips, bucking them off of the wall, trying to get a better angle and straighten up a bit, but she slammed an open palm on his lower stomach, pushing him back.  “Hold the fuck still,” she huffed.  Mickey took his chances and opened one eye, looking down at her round face.  Her cheeks were blubbery and decorated with red splotches, her lips still stained from the blue raspberry ice pop she inhaled about ten minutes ago.  She smiled sheepishly and licked her lips, making his stomach turn at the site.  “I’m tryna suck your dick, not pin down a squirming fish outta water.”_

_With that Mickey stilled himself, the sound of his brothers’ chatter just outside the door making his heart beat in his chest.  He could hear the snickers and occasional threats laced with obscenities thrown at anyone who tried to come into the bathroom.  They were guarding the door as Mickey journeyed into manhood, because as Iggy so eloquently stated, “Dude, you’re fuckin’ thirteen.  Time to get that knob slobbed and in some pussy already.”  Luckily for Mickey, Angie Zago was perched atop the bleachers nearby already giving him the eye while sucking on an ice pop.  She’d heard and volunteered, eagerly._

_He held his breath the moment she got his jeans undone, pushing them down with his boxers to his knees.  Without hesitation, Angie slipped Mickey into her mouth, taking a few loud sucks before stopping.  “You’re not hard.”_

_“Hu-what?” Mickey said through an exhale.  He was still holding his breath.  He looked down at his pale member hanging limply in Angie’s hand.  Not even a half chub.  It was pathetic and Mickey knew this would probably happen.  To hide his embarrassment, he took the typical Milkovich approach.  He wrapped his fingers around her ponytail and slightly tugged as he looked down at her.  “Well if you were doin’ this shit right, it would be.  Now work that fuckin’ mouth and get back to it.”_

_She smiled mischievously up at Mickey, the roughness in his voice getting her more excited.  She went back to work, not even getting the hint that Mickey hated this.  Maybe she didn’t care.  So he closed his eyes and did the only thing he could do – imagine that it was someone else down there.  In an instant, a flash of red hit him behind his eyelids, strands of hair bright like fire and shining in the sunlight.  Freckles.  Green eyes.  Sweat dripping down one red head’s neck to a back of pale skin.  As flashes of the Ian Gallagher at the city park basketball courts yesterday played in his mind, he imagined his lips around him and his dick responded instantly._

_“Oh!  Hellooo,” Angie screeched after pulling off briefly._

_“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey barked as he pushed her head back forward._

_He ended up fucking her from behind in one of the stalls, and came weakly into the condom as a dull burst of yellow shone before his eyes. The summertime sweat from her body made him almost sick afterwards.  He walked out of the bathroom, a red carpet practically laid out for him as his brothers ruffled his hair and patted him on the back.  He was a man now, but he somehow felt emasculated.  To his brothers, the walk home was the walk of pride, but to Mickey, it was secretly the walk of shame._

_Mickey woke up the next day with weird sensations all over his body, mimicking the exact ones from the day before in the bathroom with Angie.  His skin crawled as he continued to feel as if he was having sex again.  He inwardly groaned as he remembered asking his mother as a child what sex felt like, only for her to answer, “It’s wonderful and glorious and addicting, and you’ll know once you’re old enough.”  Such lies._

_But this was too weird to ignore, so in a slight panic, Mickey grabbed Iggy’s laptop he snuck out of his room last night.  He turned on the screen, and instantly went to Google, tapping madly at the keys until “synethesia and sex” filled the search bar.  His eyes widened after hitting the enter button as he scanned website links that read, “What Color is Your Orgasm?” “Synesthetes and Sex,” “Experiencing the residual effects of sex even days later.”_

_He didn’t even bother to click any of the links.  Instead, he closed the laptop abruptly before curling up on his side, cursing at the curse that made him like this._

~~~

The slam of the door caused Mandy to jolt out of her almost sleep.  She was lying on the couch dozing off after watching Lifetime chick flicks all night.  She twisted her neck to get a better glimpse of the asswipe that felt it their duty to barge in the house like the Incredible Hulk.  Not to her surprise, it was Mickey, smoke practically coming out of his nose.  “The fuck is your problem?” she barked out as she sat up, stretching her arms.

Mickey didn’t respond, only walked heavy footed to the coffee table, grabbing the open pack of cigarettes.  He shot Mandy a death glare, kind of.  She found his look awkward because he was clearly pissed off, somewhat, but his cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes glazed over, hair moderately disheveled and his lips bitten red.  Ok, so he may have been mad for who the fuck knows, but he wasn’t fooling anyone, trying to act all rough and tumble to cover _that_ look.

“You little slut,” Mandy jeered as she stood.  “You just had sex!”

That broke Mickey’s silence.  His eyes turned to saucers before squinting as he furrowed his brows.  “The fuck are you talkin’ about?!” he bit as he grabbed the lighter off of the table.  He steeled his face, lighting up the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling deeply. 

“Oh don’t play dumb with me,” Mandy placed her hands on her hips as she continued to pick, “because I know that look.”  Just as Mickey was about to walk away, she leaped forward and spun him around.  Her eyes zeroed in on his neck, a wide grin spreading across her face.  “Are those hickeys?”  She leaned in closer to her brother and studied a string of hickeys and teeth marks bloomed down his neck and over his collarbone.

Mickey instantly snatched his hand out of her grasp.  He huffed loudly, eyeing her up and down before turning around and continuing to his room.  He could hear Mandy suck her teeth just as he placed his hand on the doorknob.  “Ever slip up and tell anyone about…what I have?” Mickey suddenly asked, his back still turned to his sister.

“What?  No,” Mandy answered incredulously.  “Why are you asking?  What’s going on?”

Mickey turned his head slowly to the side, catching a glimpse of Mandy’s confused facial expression in his periphery.  “Nothing,” he answered shortly before disappearing into his room.

~~~

It happened a lot sooner this time – and was far more intense, _enjoyable_.

Mickey was already moaning before he was even fully awake, his hand already palming his half hard dick.  Before he opened his eyes, he already knew what was happening.  But unlike the first time when he’d done it with Angie Zago, his skin didn’t crawl and his stomach didn’t turn.  Instead, the hairs on his arms were standing up and his entire body was warm and tingling.  “ _Ffffuck_ ,” he said through a half moan. 

He glanced at his clock.  3:35am.  He’d been asleep for only an hour.  Mickey screwed his eyes shut, his bottom lip already between his teeth as flashes of red and green filled his mind.  He felt sensations traveling from his neck down to his collar bone, sending a shiver down his spine.  Whenever this did happen to him, which wasn’t after every sexual encounter, he would get up and busy himself, or take sleeping pills to fall back into oblivion.  He would do any and everything to ignore the phenomenon, to dismiss the disgust.  But this time, he didn’t want to stop what was happening.

 

_Mickey’s back pressed against the brick wall, Ian’s hips flush against his.  The red head was impressive, rubbing his fingers through Mickey’s hair, gently tugging ever so often, while simultaneously licking and sucking marks into his neck, his free hand undoing his jeans without fumble.  “Oh shit,” Mickey breathed out.  Ian smiled into his neck before maneuvering his head so his lips were an inch away from Mickey’s.  He moved in slowly, only for the older boy to stop him with an open palm to his chest.  “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fuckin’ tongue out,” he barked._

_Ian simply shrugged, unfazed, before moving back to his neck.  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Ian blurted out as he finally got Mickey’s jeans undone._

_“Why you say that?”  Mickey was curious about Ian’s amazement._

_Ian came up for air from the expanse of pale flesh across Mickey’s neck and collarbone.  “I’ve always had a thing for you Mickey, ever since Little League.”  Mickey let out a snort, because he remembers Ian, the scrawny kid with the face full of freckles and red bangs that hung in his face from underneath his baseball cap.  And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t always find him somewhat alluring._

_“Oh yeah?”_

_“Yeah,” Ian responded as he dropped to his knees.  Mickey closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the brick, instantly being transported to a place he’d never been before._

Mickey’s right hand traveled down towards his crotch, but he stopped at the mimicking sensation of lips around his dick.  He didn’t even have to touch himself to get that feeling he was hoping his hand would create.  The residual effects of Ian’s mouth took care of that.  He pressed his head back into his pillow as he felt his toes starting to curl.  He brought his left hand up, and began to rub his chest and rake his fingernails across his already hard nipples as his right hand gripped the covers.  He was in awe at everything that was happening and felt like he was going to explode any moment as he continued to think about the rooftop.

“Ah, shit,” he said gutturally.  He moved his hand to finally jerk himself off, as he was quickly approaching the edge.

 

_Ian continued to be impressive.  Mickey found it almost impossible that someone could give a blowjob as mind blowing as this.  Yet, here he was, leaned against a brick wall while his mind was being blown to pieces, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing behind the lids of his closed eyes.  He opened them and glanced down at the red head, putting his all in the task, his lips red and swollen as he practically swallowed him whole._

_“Ffffffuck, Gallagher, I’m gonna come,” Mickey breathed out.  Ian sped up his pace and deepened his suction, his cheeks hollowed.  Mickey tried to pull out when he felt his climax approaching, only for Ian to stop him.  The red head did a couple twists with his hand that was guiding him, right before warm ribbons shot into the back of his throat.  He didn’t waste one drop, swallowing it all._

_Mickey thought back to the website link he saw years ago that read, ‘What Color is Your Orgasm?’  He remembered it being yellow with Angie Zago, and yellow with all of the girls following her.  He even remembered yellow with the few guys he’d managed to fuck over the years.  But with Ian – it was fireworks covering every inch of the spectrum, and it was only a blowjob._

Mickey grunted as he came.  The colors weren’t as strong this time, but his orgasm put all of his other jerking off climaxes to shame.  He rolled over on his side, picking up a shirt from off of the floor by his bed, wiping himself off.  He threw the dirty t-shirt back down, but didn’t move, his hand hanging loosely over the side of his bed.  He smiled slightly, before flattening the expression, staring blankly at his window.

He felt a tightness creep into his chest and his head began to hurt as he thought back to exactly how things ended up on the rooftop.  He let out a frustrated breath, not wanting to do any investigating and killing whoever opened their big fucking mouth.  He knew it was going to be a long week; nevertheless he prepared himself for – for what, he wasn’t even sure.

But the hardest part of this whole thing would be facing Ian.

 

_Ian stood, a small grin playing on his lips.  Mickey didn’t bother to pull his pants up, somehow knowing this wasn’t it.  He closed his eyes, his chest shaking slightly from the chuckling he found himself doing.  The sound of a zipper coming down caused him to re-open his eyes, which landed on Ian’s hands undoing his own zipper.  Mickey raised an eyebrow while Ian kept his gaze locked onto Mickey’s eyes.  The two boys stood for a few moments, as if unsure how to proceed._

_“Want me to return the favor?” Mickey asked, somewhat hesitantly.  He’d never given a hummer a day in his life, but he found himself willing to do it for the first time on Ian._

_“Uh uh,” Ian said mischievously, “I’d rather fuck you.”_

_Mickey was thrown for a loop, because he never pictured Ian as a top.  He himself had never bottomed before, always being the one to do the fucking, but he’d always wanted to bottom, never truly trusting anyone enough to let them have him that way.  Instead he settled for doing it himself with dildos and occasionally his fingers.  But with Ian, he found himself trusting in a way he never had before, wanting Ian to be the one to dominate._

_He shot Ian a glance, giving him the go ahead.  Ian got the hint and smirked, before turning Mickey around and pushing him up against the wall.  Mickey could hear him fumbling for something in his back pocket, hearing the sound of a wrapper between his fingers.  Ian brought the condom wrapper around to Mickey’s face.  “Open it,” he said huskily.  Mickey didn’t hesitate, grabbing the tip of the gold wrapper between his teeth before pulling away and tearing it open.  Ian began to suck on his fingers, making sure they were wet enough before prepping Mickey.  But before making a move, he leaned into Mickey, placing a few wet kisses on his neck before breathing heavily into his ear.  “So, what color am I?” he asked unexpectedly._

_Mickey felt himself go stiff, Ian’s question obvious and causing him to panic.  He didn’t have to ask him what he meant, immediately turning around, a look of pure terror on his face.  “The fuck?!” he barked out, pushing Ian away from him.  He hustled and pulled up his pants, Ian standing surprised, slack-jawed and hard as a rock.  This obviously wasn’t the reaction he was expecting._

_“I’m sorry if I just freaked you out,” Ian began as he tried to move back in closer.  “I – “_

_“Get the fuck outta my way,” Mickey cut him off as he maneuvered quickly around him.  He walked angrily and hastily towards the steps, practically jumping down each flight, leaving Ian shocked and alone on the rooftop._

~~~

He knew avoiding Ian would be nearly impossible, so Mickey did his best to play it nonchalant as the kid made his way to his locker before lunch.  Two days had passed since their encounter, Mickey avoiding his daily drop-ins at the Kash N Grab.  He aimlessly fumbled with some notebooks in his locker, knowing good and well he had already gotten what he needed, keeping himself from looking at Ian.

“Hey,” Ian said hesitantly. 

“Hey,” Mickey responded as dryly as possible, trying his best to ignore the warmth spreading across his chest.  He could see Ian shove his hands into his pocket out of his periphery.  He didn’t have to fully face him to see that his expression was nervous and uncertain.

Ian wasn’t one for beating around the bush, so he cut right to the chase.  “Look, I’m sorry about the other night, just blurting that out and all.”

Mickey let out a huge snort, amused by Ian’s apology.  He didn’t know why he was sorry.  If anything, Mickey should have been apologizing to Ian for the serious case of blue balls he left him with that night.  “Don’t worry about it,” Mickey responded as he closed his locker.  He made the fatal mistake of finally looking at the younger boy, the look in his green eyes killing him and slowly shattering his defenses.  Mickey peeled his eyes off of him, walking hastily around him to avoid any further conversation.  He should have been asking Ian how he knew about his disorder, or more specifically, who the fuck told him.  Because Mickey had always been careful to make sure no one outside of his family knew.  His siblings knew the price to pay for blabbing was their lives.

“Hey wait a sec,” Ian continued as he jogged to catch up to him, “we need to talk about the other night.  And don’t you at least wanna know how I – “

“Yo keep your fucking voice down,” Mickey cut him off as he whirled around.  He walked up to Ian, his fists reflexively balled.  He didn’t know why he was bracing for a fight when he knew he couldn’t hurt Ian if he tried.  “Look, I don’t know how you know, but don’t go spreadin’ this shit around, you got me?  Last thing I need is half the school thinkin’ I’m some fucking freak.” 

“Or into guys,” Ian offered bluntly.  Mickey flinched at his comment, but made no rebuttal.  “Look, I’m not gonna say anything Mick,” he assured him, “and you’re not a freak.  You’re unique.”

“Oh fuck you,” Mickey bit, “unique?”  He waved Ian off as he turned around, still not addressing or denying the ‘into guys’ comment as he walked aggressively down the hallway.  But his belligerent departure didn’t hold a candle to how persistent Ian was.

“Don’t you at least wanna know how I know?” Ian said as he continued to follow the older boy.

“Know what?”  Ian stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Iggy, who interrupted them with his question, obviously hearing the last bit of their conversation.  He’d appeared from behind Ian, bumping fists with Mickey as he shot the red head a not so nice glance.  Ian didn’t respond right away, his words getting stuck in his throat which was suddenly dry.  “Speak Merida, or fucking get lost.”

Ian’s eyes widened at the sound of Iggy’s voice, his eyes darting nervously back and forth between him and Mickey.  He swallowed a huge lump that had formed in his throat, before slowly backing away.  “Nothing,” Ian said shortly before turning around and walking briskly off.

“You friends with that faggot?” Iggy asked Mickey, who was taken aback by Ian’s sudden change in demeanor.  His eyes were still on him, before shifting nervously to his brother.

“Fuck no,” Mickey huffed.  “And how the hell do you even know he’s a mo?”

“Word gets around,” Iggy responded matter of fact before clapping Mickey on the back.  “I’m fuckin’ starving.  Nicky’s got dogs from Tommy’s.  You eatin’?”

“Uh…yeah,” Mickey responded somewhat hesitant.  “Hey look, I’ll catch up to you guys in a few.  I think I left somethin’ in my last class.”

“Alright bro, we’ll be on the last set of bleachers,” Iggy responded as he gave Mickey another pound.  “You know where.”

“Alright man, be there in a few.”  Mickey stood as he watched Iggy jog around the bend of the hallway. 

When he heard the exit door open and close, he took off down the other end of the hall, walking hastily to try and catch up to Ian.  He couldn’t have gotten too far.  At the end of the corridor, he looked left then looked right.  No Ian.  Mickey cursed under his breath, not really knowing what he was doing, or why he felt the need for a more in depth explanation he didn’t really want from him.  But his gut told him to swallow his pride and find him – and Mickey’s gut was rarely wrong. 

He started to slightly panic with the feeling Ian probably linked up with friends for lunch, Mandy a part of his crew, which would make it impossible for him to inconspicuously pull him to the side and talk without eyebrows raising in curiosity at why the hell he wanted to speak to him.  He knew Mandy and Ian never ate in the cafeteria, so he bypassed the lunchroom and went through the exit doors that led to the side of the school where the outside lunch tables were.  To his relief, he saw Ian sitting at one of the tables, alone.  His friends hadn’t met up with him yet, so he took the opportunity to go speak to him.  Ian looked up just as Mickey was approaching the table, a surprised look spreading across his face.

“Gallagher,” Mickey said as he motioned with his head for Ian to follow him, “let me talk to you for a sec.”  Without question or hesitation, Ian stood to his feet and followed the older boy.  He shoved his hands into his pockets again, looking around as if making sure none of his friends were nearby yet.  Mickey led them to a secluded area behind the school near the dumpsters.  He knew no one really hung out around this part because the stench of the garbage could be sickening. 

Ian looked around nervously again, before looking back intently at Mickey.  “Yeah?” Ian asked.  He made sure to keep a good amount of distance between them, not wanting to freak Mickey out.

“We can talk about this, but I choose when and where.”  Ian nodded in agreement, his face slightly frowned still.  Mickey was still trying to pinpoint why he had gotten cold all of a sudden after Iggy appeared, but then again, all Milkoviches had that effect on virtually everyone.  “You know the dugouts?”

“Yeah.”

“Meet me there tonight at ten.”

“Ok.”

“Good,” Mickey responded as he walked around Ian to go meet up with his brothers.  He was halfway around the bend when Ian decided to speak.

“I know it was you guys,” Ian blurted out.

Mickey stopped and turned around, confused.  “What?”

“That robbed the Kash N Grab,” Ian said lowly, “you, Iggy and probably Terry.”  Mickey’s eyes widened before narrowing as he walked back towards him.  “I had no clue for a while who it was, but then your brother found it fit to call me Merida again.  Awful genius.  That triggered everything, and then I recognized his jacket, and the one you’re wearing now.”

So Milkoviches weren’t the brightest when it came to covering up their schemes.

“I swear Gallagher if you say one word – “

“Calm down, I’m not gonna say anything,” Ian cut him off.  “A store getting robbed in the Southside is a daily thing.  Besides, it makes sense now.”

“What does?”  Mickey shifted nervously, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. 

“Your dad,” Ian began as he rubbed a hand through his hair, “he yelled at you to stick me in the store, but you hesitated and wouldn’t.  You _couldn’t._ ”

So Mickey’s previous assumptions about this kid not missing a beat were right.  Ian was sharp, and it scared and excited Mickey at the same time.  He gave in to the fact that he was made, throwing up both of his hands.  “Just don’t take that shit personal.”

“Not my store,” Ian responded nonchalantly.  “But his wife Linda is a surveillance whore, and she gets off on studying the store footage.  Trust me, I know from experience.  And if she figures you guys out, you’ll go down for sure.  Don’t know why you guys chose to hit a place so damn local.”

“Go tell that to my fucking pops,” Mickey barked.  “And why the hell are you telling me this anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”  Ian smiled before walking around Mickey, leaving him to ask himself a string of questions.  “See ya later Mick.”

Mickey watched as Ian disappeared around the building, a cloud of red trailing behind him.  He rubbed both of his hands down his face.  Ian Gallagher was going to be the death of him.

~~~

“Where the hell are you goin’?”

Mickey spun around as he grabbed his jacket, stabbing Iggy with a glare.  He was sitting next to Mandy on the couch drinking a beer, Mandy smoking a cigarette as they watched Scarface for the hundredth time.  “None of your fucking business,” Mickey barked.  Iggy simply shrugged and sank further into the couch cushions as Mickey slipped on his jacket and turned to walk out the door. 

It was already 10:20pm and he was running late to meet Ian at the dugouts thanks to Nicky’s dumbass going on a run alone and needing back-up at the last minute.  His older brother was now sporting two black eyes and broken nose, which Mickey found to be lenient.  Nicky definitely had a run in with some softies, but the big fuck definitely got his exercise in running through alleys and whatnot.  

“He’s going to meet his secret lover,” Mandy blurted out.  Mickey practically snarled at her as he turned around.  “Don’t get mad at me douchebag.  You know, you’re really terrible at hiding shit.  Try the back door next time if you don’t want anybody to be all up in your butthole.”  And there was the problem – that’s exactly what Mickey wanted, he just didn’t want it to be his siblings.

“Aw shit bro!  You seein’ a new bitch?” Iggy beamed as he leaned forward.  Mickey inwardly groaned, because _no he wasn’t seeing a new bitch_ , and he would never want to.  Mickey didn’t answer, just let out a loud scoff before sticking up his middle finger and turning around to finally leave.  “So secretive,” Iggy laughed as Mickey slammed the door behind him.

He was slightly out of breath when he arrived at the baseball field.  So what if he practically ran the whole way there.  He stopped before approaching the dark area where the dugouts were, not sure if Ian was even there.  He didn’t see anyone, and he felt his stomach drop from heavy disappointment.  He looked at this watch.  10:47pm.  He couldn’t blame Ian if he took off already, considering he was late.  Mickey himself was exceptionally impatient and would have been out after fifteen measly minutes. 

Reluctantly, and clinging to the small possibility Ian was late too, he walked slowly towards the dugouts.  He noticed tinges of light blue snaking upwards as he got closer, lifting slowly towards the ceiling.  It was cigarette smoke.  He didn’t see anyone, the little light cast from the shitty Southside street lights not helping at all.  When he approached the gate, he looked down, seeing someone lying on the concrete floor adjacent to one of the benches, their head propped up on a book bag.  It was Ian, smoking a cigarette.  The red head slowly cast his eyes upward, and Mickey could clearly see his eyebrows furrowing as he blew out a long line of cotton candy scent.

“You’re late,” Ian said through a mouthful of smoke. 

“Had to take care of some business,” Mickey responded.  He hopped down the few steps, perching himself atop the bench above Ian, looking down at him.

“We really need to exchange numbers,” Ian began as he sat up.  “I could have sent you a reminder text, because I really think you forgot.”

“Relax little red riding hood.  I didn’t forget and I came didn’t I?  So are you gonna bitch all night about this, or are you gonna drop it?”  Mickey bent down and swiped the cigarette from between Ian’s lips, before placing it between his own.  He inhaled what was considered bitter and appalling to most people, marveling in how sweet the smoke smelled and tasted to him.  Ian stood and sat next to him, attempting to grab back his cigarette, only to be swatted away by the older boy.  “So,” Mickey began as he finally handed Ian back his cigarette, “you wanted to talk, so talk.”

Not knowing exactly where to start, Ian grew quiet for a few moments before turning to face Mickey.  “I guess I’ll start with what’s the hardest and tell you how I found out you have synesthesia.”  Hearing someone outside of his family say it made Mickey flinch.  He himself barely said the name of what he had.  He then found himself amused by Ian calling his disorder the “hardest.”  If only the kid knew that this wasn’t the worst of his troubles.  “I always found you something odd, in a good way of course.  You have a rather unique and biased taste in flavors might I add.”  

“The strawberry gave it away, huh?” Mickey chuckled.  If only Ian knew exactly _why_ he liked it so much.

“I have a hunch, but we’ll get to _that_ later,” Ian said slyly.  The breadth of his comfort and the way he allowed his words to shape his intentions made Mickey’s skin tingle.  Ian smiled slightly when he noticed Mickey’s subtle discomfort for which he had every aim to ease.  “But it wasn’t until a few days after the party that I put things together,” Ian continued.  “You reacted the same way I did when I got hit, and I found that…interesting.  I was hanging out with Mandy at your house when you weren’t there one evening, and I overheard her arguing with Nicky I think, calling him a dumbass and telling him not to blame you for having synesthesia.  She corrected him after he said it wrong.  Apparently, you skipped out on a run, and he said that was why, calling you a few choice names.”

Mickey felt his head swell with anger.  Fucking Nicky – it was always him somehow, screwing up, splattering shit all over the place.  He was always sloppy.  “Fuck,” Mickey huffed.

Ian’s face softened at Mickey’s obvious distress.  “Mandy didn’t know I heard.  It sounded familiar, what she said, but it wasn’t until I went home that night and temporarily became a slave to Google.  I don’t think I’ve ever researched something so much in my life.  But everything made sense after that.” 

Mickey rubbed both of his hands down his face.  He felt so exposed and more vulnerable than usual.  “There goes my secret.”

“One of your secrets,” Ian offered.  Mickey drew his head back slightly as if shocked, but it was more of a reflex than anything.  So it seemed Ian was too far into his closet, a bone collector and gladly collecting his many skeletons.  “Look, it’s still a secret.  It’s safe with me, ok?”  Ian smiled again, and for a second, Mickey felt reassured.  “I took a wild guess at which form, or forms you have.”

Mickey knew that was a question, even though he didn’t phrase it that way.  Now he was pushing it, but still, Mickey found himself acquiescing, almost willingly.  “I can smell colors, see certain colors associated with certain things – rain, smoke, snow, even people’s auras or energy so to speak.  I get certain sensations from certain sounds.”  He then stopped, feeling almost embarrassed to continue, because the biggest one of them all, feeling what others felt – it always made him feel weak.  “I also have one called mirror-touch.  I can experience the sensations and feelings of another person.”  His last sentence was barely audible, but Ian heard.

“Must be hard,” Ian said as his eyes studied the way Mickey’s hands fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. 

Mickey inwardly laughed, thinking back to when Ian said he was going to start with what was probably the hardest for Mickey.  He really had no clue.  “And why do you think what I have is the hardest?”  Mickey inquired.

“For one, you can’t even say it,” Ian posed. 

“I can say it.”

“Then say it.” 

Mickey grew silent, casting his head downward.  Thinking back to the conversation with Nicky behind the school some weeks back, it dawned on him that it was the last time he called it by name, and he remembered that even saying it as a correction to his brother, was hard.  He chewed on his bottom lip as he kicked aimlessly at the butt of the cigarette smoked between the two of them on the cement ground in the dugout.  Ian was right.  And it wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t say it – it was because it hurt to.  It wasn’t nearly as painful as the admittance that he preferred boys over girls, but nevertheless, allowing the word to roll off of his tongue was just as bad as feeling someone else’s hit.  Perhaps it was shame, which Mickey knew, was _always_ painful.  It was up there with fear, which was what he felt about his sexuality.  The only difference was, shame couldn’t kill him – but fear could.

So living with synesthesia wasn’t the hardest.  Being gay was.

“Look,” Mickey began as he finally looked back at Ian, “it’s not that I can’t say it…it’s that…” Mickey trailed off.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, that familiar feeling of shame burgeoning in his chest.  He let out a deep sigh before continuing.  “It’s just hard to.  At any rate, I never liked having…synesthesia,” he said solemnly as his eyes locked onto Ian’s, “but it isn’t nearly as hard as, _this_.”

“And by this, you mean, being gay,” Ian stated rhetorically.  Mickey looked away again, refusing to acknowledge the statement.  Taking his chances, Ian lifted his hand, placing it on Mickey’s shoulder.  He felt him flinch at first, before he gave in and leaned into the touch.  “It doesn’t have to be,” Ian began as he gently squeezed Mickey’s shoulder, “you know, hard.”

Mickey snorted, bemused, because of course this vibrant red head would see things through rose colored glasses.  Go figure.  “But it always will be.  You don’t know my family, specifically, my homophobic, psychotic father.  If he ever found out…” Mickey trailed off, placing his eyes on Ian’s hand and how his fingers curved around his shoulder.  “You don’t understand…being…what I have – “

“You _have_ synesthesia,” Ian cut him off.  He leaned his head forward a bit, to get a better view of Mickey’s eyes.  He knew they would tell him everything he couldn’t.  “But being gay?  It’s who you are.”

“That’s so – “

“Cliché?” Ian interjected.

“Yeah.”  Mickey chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck, a question obvious in his nervous tick as he thought for a moment.  “So how’d you figure me out?” he finally asked.

“I felt it from your eyes,” Ian answered, “sensed it I guess you can say.”

Mickey smiled and shifted on the bench, slightly nervous from how comfortable Ian was making him feel.  He didn’t even realize the red head’s hand was still on his shoulder until he felt it slide slowly down his arm, and over his own hand.  Saying Ian gave him chills would have been an understatement.  He quickly caught hold of his green eyes, before darting his blue ones away.  Why he was being so bashful was a mystery to him, but it wasn’t as much of an anomaly as him _not_ moving his hand from underneath Ian’s.  He watched as his fingers slowly curled around his, before looking back up at him, the red head inching closer. 

Up until this point, Mickey was certain he’d seen every color of the spectrum, felt every sensation, smelled every smell.  But what was happening as he looked at Ian, was somehow a new and unknown experience.  The red that usually emanated off of him suddenly mixed with blue, throwing Mickey for a loop, until he realized where it was coming from – off of himself.  He’d never seen his own color until now, the way it curled around Ian’s red creating an almost purple haze.  The phenomenon didn’t last long, but it was striking nonetheless. 

But as beautiful as it was, it was an ugly reminder of what he had, and suddenly the euphoria began to drain along with the color from his face.  He pulled away from Ian, breathing heavily, the scent under his nose making it that much harder.  He could feel beads of sweat collecting on his forehead.  “Shit,” Mickey breathed, “shit, shit.”

Ian’s face fell at Mickey’s obvious panic.  “I’m not gonna judge you,” Ian said as he moved in towards Mickey again, “so stop being so afraid.”

The sound of Ian’s voice began to calm Mickey.  His breathing slowed as he made the decision to not allow what he had get in the way of who he was.  “The way I see things makes me feel like a fucking freak all the time,” Mickey expressed, his eyes focused on the way Ian’s fingers now curled around his wrist.  He took a gamble and looked up, the small smile playing on Ian’s lips making him want to break his rule of no kissing.

“So you have kaleidoscopes for senses and mirrors for eyes,” Ian said through a smile.  “That’s not freakish, it’s amazing.”  That warmth Mickey always looked for from the sound of Ian’s voice spread across his chest, before subsequently spreading through his entire body.  Ian instantly felt the heat travel from Mickey’s wrist and into his fingertips.  And if there was a color in his hands, he was certain it would be as vivid as his feelings for the older boy.

“And it’s red,” Mickey said suddenly, his defenses almost completely down.

“What is?”  Ian then felt the gentle thump of Mickey’s heartbeat against his fingertips as his eyes intently studied his lips.

“Your color,” Mickey responded, finally answering Ian’s question from the rooftop. 

“I figured.”

And In that moment, Mickey thought _fuck it_ , spontaneously planting a kiss on Ian, taking his bottom lip into his mouth as he pulled away slowly.  If he was giving some of the information, why not give it all?  “You also taste how you smell.  Like strawberry.”

“Figured that too,” Ian smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter mainly to the song, "Colour in Your Hands" by D.L.i.d. (feat. Fink). I love the concept of hands (it's a slight obsession of mine), but I also just love the song and since this is a fic about senses and whatnot...why not? I guess I'm fairly happy with this chapter (fairly), and as usual, keeping them in character was a bitch, especially when dealing with something as sensitive as synesthesia (Mickey especially). There is one more chapter after this, and hopefully I will be 100% happy with it and it won't be anticlimactic and corny, lol. As usual, thanks for reading! :)


	5. What Love Looks Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What were you looking for?” she finally asked, fighting back a single tear stinging behind her eye with the mark.
> 
> “I was trying to see what love looks like,” Mickey responded, his blue eyes so oceanic and inquisitive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's finally finished and I'm so sorry it took me a decade to update. I don't know how I feel about this chapter, and I'm sorry if it seems a bit anticlimactic? We shall see... 
> 
> Warning: Mention/depiction of death in this chapter (I won't say anything too much to give it away, but it's in here). Also mention of drug use. If this is a trigger for you, read with caution or not at all.

“What time is it?” Ian asked as he sat up, still on the dugout cement floor. 

Mickey was already sitting back on the bench, appearing to have been watching him sleep.  The older boy quickly turned his head towards the fence that separated them from the field, trying his best to pretend as if he wasn’t just staring.  It was still dark, but the shitty light cast from the lights over the baseball patch was enough for Ian to catch him red handed – no pun intended. 

They both had dozed off after finally taking things further than the night on the rooftop, hands grabbing and clothes spinning until Ian found himself in Mickey in ways he’d only been dreaming of for the past year.  They’d used their jackets as something to lie on after exhausting all of their energy.

“Just after four,” Mickey responded still looking straight ahead.  He was chewing nervously on his bottom lip with his eyebrows stitched in a frown.  But despite looking like a worried wreck, Ian still found him beautiful, the way the dim light made his blue eyes gleam like azure glass something to behold – and this thought was far from post coital.

“Ah shit,” Ian huffed out as he stood, rubbing his hand on his lower back.  “Sleeping on cement fucking sucks.  I wish you would’ve waked me up.”

“You looked…” Mickey trailed off before stopping.  He ran his thumb across his bottom lip before withdrawing what he was about to say, replacing it with something far more sarcastic.  “Yeah well, you couldn’t hang so I let you get your z’s princess.”

Ian smirked, already hip to the fact Mickey was trying to play it cool.  He sat next to him on the bench, turning his head to study his side profile.  “Beautiful?”

“What?” Mickey asked confused, finally turning to meet Ian’s gaze.

“I looked…beautiful?” Ian elaborated with a huge shit eating grin on his face.  “That’s what you were gonna say, before stopping.” 

Mickey scoffed as he stood, waving out a, “Whatever man,” through a suppressed smile.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”  He was bluffing and knew Ian could probably see it all over him.  While trying to keep it cool, calm and collected, his eyes then drifted over the younger boy’s face, a seriousness suddenly coming over his own accompanied by an underlying glint of something resembling discernment.  Mickey looked back at the fence, putting his concentration there instead.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked, picking up on the sudden shift in Mickey.

“Nothing,” the older boy answered, “thought I saw something is all.”

 

_“What are you doing honey?”_

_Anna smiled across the kitchen table as she watched her son, watching her.  A glint of sapphire shone through eyelids almost closed as a nine-year-old Mickey squinted his eyes in concentration at his mother.  Mandy was sitting next to him, her face twisted in a confused frown as she studied the way her brother seemed to be looking really hard for something.  What it was, she couldn’t be so sure.  “I’m lookin’ ma,” Mickey finally answered._

_“Whatcha lookin’ for shrimp?” Nicky asked from across the table as he stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth.  Mickey furrowed his dark eyebrows as he scowled at his older brother for interrupting his moment of what seemed to be a discovery of some sort.  Getting the hint he was annoyed, Nicky opened his mouth exposing chewed up food._

_“Gross!” Mickey twisted his face in disgust, “and I’m not telling you!” he screamed as he stood from his seat._

_“Who you yellin’ at shrimp?!” Nickey hollered back, now standing as well._

_“I hate when you call me that!”_

_“Too bad shrimp!”_

_Anna stood from the table, shushing both boys before they went to blows.  “Be quiet!  Both of you!”  She placed her hands on her hips, glancing down at Nicky who was still sticking out his tongue with smashed up eggs for display.  Mickey resigned to sitting back down, his serious pouty face on – he knew that would be the winner.  Anna sighed as she watched Mickey’s bottom lip jut out before looking back at Nicky.  “What did we say about showing your food in your mouth at the table, huh?”_

_Nicky finally closed his mouth, looking up at his mother.  “Sorry ma.”_

_“Yeah well, ya did it already.  You’re lucky your father wasn’t in here to see it,” Anna huffed.  Nicky dropped his head at that thought.  “Go on, get young man.  To your room.”_

_“But – “_

_“No lip,” she cut him off.  “Go on.”  With slumped shoulders, Nicky backed away from the table, making his exit, but not before sticking his tongue out quickly at Mickey who was grinning at him victoriously._

_“May I be excused?” Mandy asked after the commotion, looking up at her mother.  She’d barely touched her eggs, but had at least eaten her toast.  She was so scrawny already.  Seemingly exhausted, Anna nodded, allowing Mandy to get up, even though she knew Terry would have a fit about food being wasted._

_“Sure thing sweetie.”_

_Anna sat back at the table, Mickey across from her staring again.  She rubbed aimlessly up and down her arms, squeezing them as she looked at her youngest son.  She looked down at her arms, studying the bruise marks in the shape of hands before forcing out a smile and glancing back at Mickey who seemingly caught that she was upset.  He dropped his head after looking at the fist print she also had around her eye._

_“Sorry I was staring so hard,” Mickey said lowly.  “I wasn’t looking at the marks.”_

 

One side of Ian’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile, which Mickey could clearly see out of his periphery.  Feeling antsy all of a sudden, he jumped up from the bench to grab his jacket off of the dugout floor.

His back was to Ian as he picked up what he used as cushion.  By the time he straightened up, he felt that familiar heat against his back, the faint smell of strawberry cascading delicately over his shoulders.  He shuddered at the feeling of Ian’s groin pressing into his ass as he reached his hands around his hips and placed them in his jean pockets.  Mickey didn’t protest when he felt tiny nibbles being placed on his earlobe.  Going with the flow of the moment, he turned around, Ian getting the hint and pressing their lips together.

Mickey never imagined himself as one to ever make out with anyone, yet here he was doing this very thing with Ian – and enjoying it.  He broke the kiss after a few minutes of their tongues battling for dominance, his eyes suddenly getting that look of panic in them again as he watched Ian, watching him the way he used to do with his mom.  Obviously overwhelmed, Mickey widened the gap between him and Ian, casting his eyes towards the cement floor as he rubbed his hand through his hair.

“Something else wrong?” Ian asked concerned by yet another mood change.  He was beginning to feel like maybe it was him – like Mickey was in the process of changing his mind about _this_.

“Um, no,” Mickey cleared his throat.  He suddenly became hoarse, sweat simultaneously gathering in the creases of his palms.

“What’d you see just now?” Ian asked – already too in tune with Mickey’s senses.  The older boy knew his tongue had gotten away from him, the unintentional (yet honest) _‘thought I saw something is all’_ leaving his mouth before he could even register the words.

“Nothing,” Mickey denied as he suddenly turned and started walking away.  “We should get going before dawn.”

“Right,” Ian said suspiciously, jogging behind the older boy to catch up.

Both boys waked in silence, until they split to go their respective ways home.  “See ya,” Mickey said quickly before walking his way after making it to where they had to go their separate ways.

“Yeah, see ya,” Ian reciprocated, the awkwardness and slight disappointment clear in his voice, which despite the lack of enthusiasm still made Mickey feel that undeniable warmth spread across his chest.

He beat himself up all the way home at how badly he fumbled the end of that.  But if only Ian could see what he saw, there would be no pending explanation needed later, which he knew he would have to give eventually.  And at this point, Mickey wasn’t even completely sure if he saw what he thought he saw.  It was all just a solid _maybe_.

Nevertheless it was a possibility.

 

_“It’s ok honey, I know you weren’t looking at these ugly bruises” Anna said softly as she stood and walked around the table to sit in the chair next to Mickey.  She placed her hand underneath his chin, slowly lifting his head until he was looking up at her.  She felt her heart stutter at the thought of how much he must deal with always seeing her and Terry fight.  “What were you looking for?” she finally asked, fighting back a single tear stinging behind her eye with the mark._

_“I was trying to see what love looks like,” Mickey responded, his blue eyes so oceanic and inquisitive.  Anna had to pull herself together to keep from falling apart from those words.  Where this was coming from was a mystery to her._

_“What love looks like?  You can’t really see love Mickey.  You feel it,” she said halfway smiling._

_“I see dark colors when daddy’s mad,” Mickey said as he studied his mother’s eyes, “like last night when you were fighting.”_

_“You shouldn’t have seen that,” Anna breathed out, that single tear finally falling.  Given her son’s extraordinary senses, perhaps he would be able to see such a thing as love, if he would be so lucky to ever find it.  God knows it was scarce in their household._

_Mickey dropped his head again, not wanting to see her cry.  He always saw her cry and didn’t like it.  “When he stopped hitting you, he saw me curled up in the corner of the living room,” he continued softly, almost as if speaking too loudly would cause his mom to break even more than she was, “and he told me he does that because he loves you and that I would see it one day.  So that’s what I was doing, I was trying to see it.”_

_At this point, Anna began crying silently, tears streaming down her face.  “What your father did wasn’t love baby,” she said through a soft sob._

_“I know,” Mickey responded, “but you love us.”_

_Anna leaned over and pressed Mickey’s head into her chest as she began to stroke his black hair.  She kissed him gently in the crown of his head before whispering into his hair, “You’re a special boy Mickey.  When you see love, you’ll know it, and the colors won’t be lifeless and dark,” she continued as she turned his face towards hers, “but they’ll be lively and the brightest you’ve ever seen.”_

~~~

There was always something about morning afters – at least in theory.  Mickey never had one, at least not one worth reminiscing over the carnal comforts from the previous night.  Everyone always said you glow and shit, but how could he be so sure when he’d never done anything glow worthy?  This time around however, while the sun spat rudely through the windows, letting him know another shitty day had come, he couldn’t help but thank the stars he saw before nightfall ended and the literal stars disappeared behind the morning sky.  The faint smell of strawberry still lingered underneath his nostrils, sitting delicately atop his lip.

Ian had definitely been there.  They’d laid a blanket out in the dugout, for sure watching shooting stars.

“What blew sunshine up your ass?” Mandy asked Mickey as she poured a cup of coffee.

Her brother was acting… _strange_ to say the least.  There was extra pep in his step when he walked into the kitchen.  His smile was wider than what Milkoviches were usually allowed, while he unceremoniously shoved the pancakes she made for them into his mouth.  And the cherry on top – he’d actually showered.  Mandy’s skin began to crawl as she watched Mickey acting way too giddy for her to be comfortable.

Mickey glanced up from his plate, already scowling, syrup dribbling in the corners of his mouth.  Sunshine up his ass?  If he did choose to answer that, he wondered if Mandy wanted the actual thing that blew it up there or some fancy made up answer.  “The fuck are you talkin’ about?” he huffed before taking a large gulp of orange juice.  Mandy snickered, because Mickey was always terrible at hiding shit – he couldn’t be inconspicuous if it was a requirement. 

“You’re obviously giddy about something assface,” she said as she sat at the table.  Mickey ignored her as he poured an obscene amount of extra syrup over his half-eaten pancakes, one of his short term goals obviously diabetes.  Mandy swiped the bottle from him mid-pour, drizzling syrup on her own pancakes.  She didn’t have to look at her brother to see he was sporting an even deeper scowl.  “So,” she said casually.

“So – what?” Mickey shot back, clearly irritated.  The purple lingering around Mandy was thick and obnoxious – just like she was acting. 

“You’re seeing someone.”  It wasn’t a question and Mickey was hypersensitive to rhetoric, despite being an abuser of it himself.

“You’re clearly not asking,” Mickey said through a mouthful of food, “but I’m not tellin’ you shit.  Mind your own business thanks.”

Unfazed by his attitude, Mandy simply smiled into her cup of coffee, the bitterness of the black liquid far more offensive than the brazen nature of Mickey.  She was used to it anyway.  Not being one to beat around the bush, she cut right to it, skipping the flowery path into what she really wanted to ask.  “So, what’s _his_ name?” she asked too casually, her eyes locked onto Mickey’s.

It took him a minute to collect himself, the initial sound of _‘his’_ knocking any rational thought out of his head – while simultaneously hitting him in the gut.  He nearly sputtered out his orange juice, feeling some almost come through his nose.  “I’m sorry,” he breathed out, “what’s _his_ name?”  He was beyond incredulous, yet refrained from correcting Mandy with a _‘her’_ in its place.  Neither felt right from the fear of what was attached to the gender they each implied – ‘his’ from the allusion to him being gay, and ‘her’ because whoever Mickey ever chose to see in his life would never be a _she._

Understanding, Mandy leaned back and smiled, allowing the question to sink in.  After an appropriate amount of time, she leaned forward and offered a confident, “Yeah – what’s his name Mickey?”

“The fuck?!” he nearly shouted, threatening to literally jump out of his own skin.  “Are you tryna say I’m fucking gay?”

“I’m not _trying_ to say anything Mickey,” Mandy said rolling her blue eyes, “I’m just saying it – straight out.”  Mickey’s eyes grew wide for a split second, his mouth momentarily hanging open as he stammered over his words, what he was trying to say stuck in his mouth.  There was no strength to repudiate.  “C’mon Mick,” Mandy continued her tirade, “this is something I’ve known about you before you probably got pubes.  I was just tryna be patient and let you tell me when you were ready, but given you probably never will be, which is understandable with Terry being our dad and all, I figured I’d just lay it on the table.”

Lay it on the table?  Was she out of her fucking mind?  Mickey felt himself inwardly boil, his blood hot and coursing through his veins at how casually Mandy was approaching his biggest secret.  Him being gay wasn’t anything to lay on the table – having synesthesia maybe – but his sexuality wasn’t meant to be laid out like that, viewed like a supper plate just waiting to be eaten. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he finally blurted out.

“Don’t get mad Mickey,” Mandy said as her face hardened.  She could tell he was getting angry, but if there was anyone he could come to with this, it was her.  There were no judges at the table, no gavel in her hand ready to strike down on a sounding block.  It was just her – his sister and probably one of the few people he could actually trust with this.  “You can talk to me ya know.  Especially since this isn’t new or a surprise for me.”

Mickey thought for a second, opening his mouth before slamming it shut.  There was no doubt he was upset she decided to sucker punch him with this, but more than being dismayed – he was afraid.  He rubbed both of his hands down his face as Mandy pulled a cigarette out of the pack on the table, lighting up the nicotine.  The instant smell of cotton candy tickled his nostrils as tendrils of light blue traveled upward.  It was always somewhat amusing to him that something as unhealthy as cigarette smoke always made him feel so healthy when it was probably killing him slowly.  Yet he always reached for the taste and it had nothing to do with the effects of nicotine.  Acquiescing, he finally caught Mandy’s gaze, deciding there was no need to continue to lie. 

“I can’t tell you his name,” Mickey answered lowly, “at least not yet.”

A quick wave a disappointment washed over Mandy’s face before disappearing into the hollowing of her cheeks following a deep inhale of the cigarette.  “Why not?” she asked.  “The hard part is over, you’ve submitted to the fact that you’re gay.  Is this mystery boy closeted too?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

Mickey paused and took a quick inhale of secondhand cotton candy.  This time, he was actually reaching for the calm nicotine provided.  Instead, he got the bitter lingering of a cheap brand of smokes.  He wondered what Mandy’s reaction would be once he confessed that the guy he was seeing was her best friend Ian Gallagher.  “I just need to make sure we’re uh…” he trailed off, scratching the side of his temple with his thumb, “on the same page.”

“You’re fucking around,” Mandy pressed, “so I’d say you’re both on the same page.”

“Didn’t mean it like that,” Mickey defended, “It’s just – complicated.” 

Never one to push the issue of things complicated when it came to relationships, fuck buddies, and whatnot, Mandy resigned, leaving her brother to mull over his own business.  If there was one thing she understood outside of surviving, kicking ass and taking names later, or thinking for men – it was waving the white flag when discussing the ‘it’s complicated’ topic.  She herself had been there more times than she cared to admit.  She held up the pack of cigarettes on the table towards Mickey, making a peace offering as she backed away from the matter at hand.

“I understand,” she offered as Mickey pulled a cigarette out the pack.

He raised a brow in suspicion as he lit the nicotine, screwing up his face on the first puff.  “This tastes like shit,” he spat, “and that’s even through the whole cotton candy thing.  What kind of no frills bullshit is this?”

“Dunno,” Mandy shrugged, “found them mixed in a bunch of Iggy’s junk when I was looking for my earphones he took.”

“Ah shit,” Mickey huffed as he snuffed out the cigarette, “these are probably fucking old, on top of being cheap.”  Mandy shrugged again, finishing off her cigarette complaint free, obviously not minding the stale taste.  She’d learned from a very young age that as a Milkovich, you take what you can get when you can, because you may not get it for a long time – if ever again.

Mickey stood from the table and began to make his way to his room.  While he was no longer freaked out from her comment, he still found himself tense, the tightness of his skin making him feel stretched too thin.  He always told himself he would never come out of the closet, but remain locked in there at his own will and for his own safety, and if he ever decided to make that move, it would be slowly.  He always imagined his true self taking the one toe approach, sticking it out of the closet as he tested the other side of the threshold like testing the waters of a pool before jumping in.

He never imagined he’d be yanked out.  It was the equivalent of one of your idiot friends coming from behind you at a pool and shoving you in without warning, the water cold and shocking.

“Hey Mickey,” Mandy called to him before he was fully out of the kitchen.  Mickey stopped and looked over his shoulder.  “When you’re ready,” she said, and nothing further.

He nodded his head in acknowledgement that he understood what she meant, wondering again what her reflex would be when Ian’s name came out of his mouth.  As long as his psycho dad didn’t find out about any of this, he’d get over her reaction.  Shaking the thought out of his head, he rested easily in the fact that this was Mandy and she had a hate for Terry that was just as strong, if not stronger than his.  There was no way she would ever tell him.  He flopped down on his bed and picked up his phone off of his nightstand, noticing two missed messages.  They were from Ian.

_[ **Gallagher 11:31am:** had fun last night…hope u did 2]_

_[ **Gallagher 11:55am:** u busy?  i’m off 2day…want 2 meet up later?]_

A smile spread across Mickey’s face as he read the messages from Ian.  He positioned his fingers to type back a response, before that feeling he felt in his gut at the dugout came creeping back.  Pausing, he thought about the questions the kid would more than likely ask about his sudden weirdness.  And truth be told, he wouldn’t know how to explain it if he tried.  Words were never his thing and speaking was something he found to be tedious at times.  Seeing was more his forte, his eyes communicating in colors when words fell short.  It was just too bad others couldn’t see the way he did – it would make communication so much easier.

Just as his phone buzzed again, a familiar boom ricocheted into the living room followed by a loud string a curse words.  The walls nearly shook with the slamming of the front door.  Terry.  _Fucking Terry_.  Before he could even read the message, the madman came bursting through his room door, the smoke that came out the bull’s ears something Mickey’s seen too many times to count on the fingers of ten sets of hands.  Already knowing trouble was about to ensue, he locked his phone, hoping that he would be able to at least respond to Ian in a decent amount of time.

How strongly he felt that wouldn’t happen, but hoped that after the shenanigans Ian would at least hear him out.

“Fucking fucks!” Terry screamed as he nearly made Mickey’s room door fly off the hinges.  He didn’t even flinch, being able to take the breaking of decibel levels and sounds that made ears bleed something that Terry managed to stamp in his children’s DNA.  “Get ready and strap up!  These beaners are gonna fucking pay this time!”

Mickey inwardly groaned.  This was getting so old.

Already knowing Terry was pissed beyond recognition by the local Mexican dealers, he jumped to his feet and opened his top drawer full of a plethora of pieces– a gun lover and/or psychopath’s wet dream.  He pulled out his prized Glock 22, a pewter color with a grip enhancer embroidered with a skull and crossbones.  Fancy shit.  It was a gift from his Uncle Ronnie when he’d turned sixteen.  All Milkovich boys got a gun as a gift when they turned sixteen – a rite of passage into Milkovich manhood, despite the fact they’d already arrived years prior.  He rarely carried it, still had yet to christen the barrel, but for some reason unknown to him, he pulled it out – no reason or rationale needed.

Without question, he shuffled into the living room, both Iggy and Nicky already prepared.  Terry was in his room creating hurricanes as things crashed and the winds of his frustration poured into the hallway. He usually got like this when he couldn’t find something he needed for a run.  While waiting, Mickey felt another buzz go off in his pocket, but he couldn’t look at the message now.  A few moments later, Mandy walked out of her room, yapping away on her phone.

“Ian?” she said as she smiled.  Mickey felt himself freeze at the sound of Ian’s name, looking away from his sister so she couldn’t see him sort of panicking.  But he made sure to keep his ears where his eyes couldn’t be – on her.  “Not here…sure I’m home.  Come on over.”

Just as she hung up her phone, Mandy intentionally bumped her shoulder against Mickey’s once she was in the living room.  He scowled at her, but bit back being an asshole out of curiosity.  “Who the fuck was that?” he asked, pretending as if he didn’t just ear hustle and heard her say Ian’s name.

“Ian you nosey bastard,” she bit, “and since when did my friends start asking where _you_ are?”

“Who asked?  Red riding hood?” Mickey asked, trying not to sound too eager for further information. 

“Yeah.”

“What’d you tell him?  Not that it’s his fucking business.”  _Shit shit shit._

Mandy raised an eyebrow as she eyed her brother up and down.  Suspicion was written all over her face.  “Told him you weren’t here.”

“I am though,” Mickey countered, not realizing he was sounding a bit desperate. 

“Well you’re about to _not_ be here,” she responded as she dodged the raging bull storming back into the living room.  Terry was on the war path, and whenever he got like this, it was all _charge, charge, charge._   “Besides you just sad it wasn’t his fucking business.  Anyways, he’s coming over.”

“K, whatever,” Mickey said as he followed his dad and brothers out of the house, “just don’t go stealing my good weed outta my room.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Mandy smirked as she waived her middle finger goodbye.

~~~

_His entire life, he thought this man contained no tears.  He was certain he was as dry inside as he was out._

_Mickey had never seen his father cry – didn’t think God gave him tear ducts.  But tonight, as he hovered over his mother, a fountain practically poured out of the eyes that stared hatred and fear into so many people for so many years.  Especially Anna.  The tears came from a place inside of Terry, Mickey could see, the dark colors usually swirling around his father’s head when he interacted with his mom, a bit different in this moment.  While they weren’t bright, they were lighter and softer.  But it was a change that came too late._

_As a fourteen-year-old Mickey stared at his mother’s lifeless body hanging limply in his father’s arms, rubber still tied tightly around her frail arm, he couldn’t help but feel anger and rage at the supposed love he was finally seeing his father show his mother – his very dead mother.  She’d overdosed on the heroin that Terry had given her, after nearly knocking her unconscious in another one of their fights._

_“No!” Terry wailed, “Fuck Anna, don’t leave me!”  He pressed her chest against his as he rocked her back and forth on the bathroom floor._

_Mickey could feel his own tears building behind his eyes, as they took in the insanity of the colors radiating off of his siblings as they stood in the doorway horrified.  Mandy was clinging tightly to his arm, her sobs stinging the soles of his feet, her tears warm as they fell onto his shoulder.  The kaleidoscope around him was maddening, but the sight that made him curse the eyes he was given was that of his mother.  Her color, which was usually a vibrant fuchsia, has dimmed and bled off of her into the tiled bathroom floor.  He knew she was gone when it finally disappeared.  One of the few lights in his life – blown out._

_He looked back up at his father who was refusing to let go of the woman he’d dropped so many times.  He looked at the tears on his cheeks, the way his mouth curled as he cried, and the desperation behind the way his fingers gripped into her flesh – all lies to him.  But the biggest lie of all was the love._

_And if this was what it looked like, Mickey was hoping he would never see it._

_~~~_

“You’re deep in thought,” Mandy said to Ian as they lay in her bed staring up at the ceiling.  They’d been hanging out for the past two hours and as promised, they were smoking Mickey’s good weed which they’d stolen out of his room.  Ian seemed hesitant to go in there with her at first, a semi worried look on his face as they rummaged through his things.  His eyes darted everywhere as if looking for clues of some sort.

Ian turned his head so he could face Mandy.  Her eyelids were heavy from a decent high, and his were heavy with rejection – and he couldn’t even talk to her about it.  “I’m not thinking about anything,” Ian lied.  He could hear Mandy let out a snort as she maneuvered herself up onto her side, propping up on one of her elbows as she rested her chin in her palm. 

“And I’m not high,” she quipped.  “C’mon Ian, I can tell something’s on your mind.  You call me sounding like a damsel in distress, ask about my shithead brother of all people and come over here with that woe is me look all over your face.” 

“I just have – issues,” Ian said hesitantly as he focused his eyes back on the water spots in the ceiling.

“Guy issues,” Mandy responded rhetorically, “more specifically – _Mickey_ issues.”  Ian shifted uncomfortably next to his best friend, how spot on she was making him want to end the conversation at hand.  He let out a gasp as he quickly looked at her, unable to debunk everything she just said.  “No need to get uncomfortable,” she assured him as she sat up, lining her back with her headboard, “I was bound to put two and two together eventually.  I swear everyone thinks I’m dumb or some shit, but I assure you, I’m not.”

Finally giving in and wanting to get a few things off of his chest, Ian decided to just tell Mandy whathe knew she wanted to hear being she’d figured everything out.  But he had to ask her something first.  “How’d you figure it out?”

“Trust me, I didn’t until today,” she began, “but when you called and asked for Mickey of all people, not to mention the deer in headlights look on his face when I told him you called and was coming over.  A light bulb sort of went off.”  Mandy then smiled down at Ian whose eyes widened with each bit of information she was giving.  “I also thought back to that night at the Gallagher house when you took off after Mickey.  After that he started walking around with stars in his eyes, disappearing a few times at night.  But it didn’t all click until today.” 

“I just started seeing him…I think,” Ian started as he evened himself with Mandy.  “In fact, I’ve had a crush on him forever, and we finally hooked up after a previously failed attempt, only for him to clam up again.  He’s so hot and cold and I’m starting to think he hates me.”

‘’Ha!” Mandy laughed at the ceiling, “someone hate you?  Pretty sure he doesn’t.  This is Mickey we’re talking about Ian,” Mandy assured him.  “He’s a social cripple and wouldn’t even know where to begin when it comes to dating, not to mention our father is a psychotic, homophobic prick.”

“Well, how do you know if a guy likes you or not?”  At this point, Ian just needs validation from anywhere, even if it’s pulled out of thin air.

Mandy furrowed her brows in concentration, as if thinking of some grand answer.  “Does he get that look in his eye when he’s with you?” she finally asked. 

“What look?”

Mandy turned her head so that she was now facing Ian.  A smile spread across her face as she fluttered her eyelashes.  “You’ll know it when you see it,” she said as her smile widened and Ian wasn’t sure if it was from the good weed or her genuine enthusiasm over guys and the looks they gave someone when they like them.

Ian leaned his head back as he thought about ‘that look’ and if he would even recognize it when (and if) he ever saw it.  He thought back to the night in the dugout and the way Mickey’s eyes carried over him in a way he’d never seen before.  Ian quickly shook the thought out of his head, because it was probably fear more than anything.  But it wasn’t a bad look, and although he couldn’t see things the way Mickey did, Ian knew exactly what he felt and feelings like that couldn’t be faked.  Just as he turned to his best friend to further discuss her brother and these ‘feelings’, a loud series of disgruntled voices came bursting through the back door followed by scuffling feet.

Ian couldn’t make out what was happening, but he could tell it was commotion stemming from something just going down judging by the hard obscenities being shouted.  “What the fuck?” Mandy said as she jumped to her feet.  She rushed out of her room to see what was going on.  Ian followed close behind her, not even close to prepared to see what was in the living room.  “Oh my God!” Mandy shouted as she ran over towards Iggy and Nicky.

A breath hitched in Ian’s throat as he remained close behind her, looking at a very limp and bloody Mickey being laid onto the couch.  He felt his knees would fail to hold him up any minute if he didn’t see Mickey open his eyes, move a hand, let out a groan – anything to let him know he was alive. 

“What the fuck happened?!” Mandy yelled at Iggy as she pushed him out of the way, lowering herself on the couch next to Mickey.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Iggy bawled as he paced back and forth.

“That’s what happened?” Mandy hissed as she stood, “fuck?!  Iggy I need you to calm down and tell me what happened.  Nicky, explain something to me.  Why does Mickey look like he was just tied to the back of a truck and dragged?”

Ian kept his eyes planted firmly on Mickey, wanting to run to his side, but knowing if he did that, one of his brothers would have his head.  Just as this thought crossed his mind, Iggy shot him a glance that in any other circumstance would have been a precursor to a beat down.  His knuckles were fitting.  Iggy’s concentration on Ian quickly dissipated however, as the situation at hand was far more pressing than any dislike he obviously had for the red head.

Feeling a sense of relief from what could have just happened, Ian looked for any signs of life in Mickey as he practically clung to his own – his fear was all consuming and felt like his breath was literally being sucked out of him.  He inwardly called out to Mickey, hoping that there was some sort of telepathic connection between them, which was a dumb thought really, but that is what he was reduced to in this moment.  _Mickey, please, wake up.  Move a finger, blink an eye – anything._

“Most of the blood ain’t his,” Nicky finally said solemnly.  He was a lot calmer than Iggy and seemed to have a better handle on the situation.  At this point, Mandy was looking between her brothers frantically.  She then realized Terry was nowhere in sight.

“Not all his?” she asked, “and where’s dad?”  Nicky swiped his thumb across his bottom lip, a typical Milkovich tick, not answering her right away.  Silence and ticks was something most Milkovices were reduced to when words couldn’t be found – a dead giveaway something horrible just happened.  Nicky looked over at Mickey who was still seemingly unconscious before glancing over towards Iggy.  “Well?” Mandy pressed when she didn’t get an answer.

“He’s gone Mands,” Nicky finally answered.

“What do you mean gone?” she asked, already knowing the fate behind the way Nicky tucked the truth between the lines of his words.  Not being one for the subliminal, Mandy looked to Iggy, who finally spoke, making it as raw as possible, the way she understood.

“It’s not what you think,” Iggy clarified.  “He took off to hide for a while.  He shot one of the Mexicans right in the head after things got escalated.”  So Terry wasn’t dead. 

“And Mickey?” she asked, a lot more worry lined in her voice than when she thought her father could have been dead.  The pending undoing that would take place if Mickey wasn’t ok held far more weight than Terry’s life.

“He should be fine,” Nicky answered.  “He jumped in to help dad when he was getting his ass handed to him by one of the Mexicans, got hit a few times himself.  Me and Iggy had the other one pinned against the wall,” Nicky said as he finally sat down, “but then a shot came out of nowhere, and before we could react…”  He trailed off, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off of the coffee table, lighting one up.  He blew out a long line of smoke, before finally giving Mandy the final details.  “Dad shot that fucker square between the eyes and seeing that fucked Mickey up bad.  You know how he gets when he sees things.  It knocked him unconscious, and this time, we couldn’t wake him up.  The Mexican landed right on top of him.”

“We had to jet before the cops got there,” Iggy chimed in, “but I checked his pulse.  Nothing.  First time I ever saw dad make good on a death threat.”

It was no secret Terry Milkovich had killed before, but seeing it was a whole different ballgame.  Iggy ran his hands over his face as silence fell around everyone in the living room, Ian’s eyes still planted on Mickey.  He finally saw a slight rise and fall of his chest, which was a relief, but he needed help.  “We need to get Mickey to a hospital,” Ian said hesitantly.

Before his suggestion could even settle in the cracks of the walls, Iggy was already an inch away from his face, anger seething between his clenched teeth.  “You have no fucking say here Merida,” Iggy barked in his face.

“Back the fuck away from him!” Mandy yelled as she pushed her brother to the side.  Iggy wasn’t happy, nevertheless he complied on the strength that Mandy was his sister and their father was now on the run from the law.  “The hell did he ever do to you?”

Thinking for a moment, Iggy scanned his eyes up and down Ian, bringing the red head back to that day in the Kash N Grab when they’d held it up.  He knew Iggy was a loose cannon and decided to remain silent.  “Nothing,” Iggy finally answered, backing away slowly while his eyes said _this ain’t over._

“While you’re right Ian,” Mandy said as she turned to face him, “he can’t go to the hospital.  That’ll just lead to questions which will lead to nosey cops snooping around, especially after what dad did.  They’ll all go to prison, Mickey’s seventeen so that may land him in juvie before the real slammer.  He’s tough and has been through worse.”

“I understand,” Ian said as he began to make his way back into Mandy’s room.  He was stopped by her grabbing his hand, causing him to turn and look at her.  There were so many emotions behind her blue eyes and it amazed him at how together she was.  He would’ve fallen apart by now if this ever happened to him in his family.

“Help me take him to his room?” she asked, her tears knocking furiously behind her eyes, but her strength refusing to let her open up enough to let them out.  It was then Ian could see how much she loved her brother.

Ian nodded in silent agreement, making his way over to the couch.  He put one of Mickey’s arms around his shoulder, just as Mandy did the same with the other one.  They carried him to his room, placing him on his bed.  Ian stood and watched his labored breathing, feeling out of place and decided it was time for him to leave.  Just as he was about to exit, groans began to escape Mickey’s mouth.

“He’s waking up,” Mandy smiled as she lowered herself next to him.

“That’s a good sign,” Ian said, his own smile spreading.  It then disappeared into a serious look as he began to back out of the room.  “I think I’ll leave now then.”

“No,” Mandy said suddenly.  “Stay with him?  Please.  At least until he wakes up completely.”

“He’ll be fine with you.”

“I’m horrible with these things Ian,” Mandy countered, clearly not giving up.  “Besides, he’ll probably be glad to see you when he recognizes it’s you.”

“Or not.  He’ll probably throw me out.”

Rolling her eyes, Mandy stood and made her way over towards Ian.  She stood on her tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek.  “And if he does that, he’s crazy.”  She left the room, closing the door behind her, sending a sudden wave of panic down Ian’s spine at what his brother’s must think about him being in Mickey’s room alone with him.  But the fear quickly subsided when Mickey stirred again and turned on his side so his back was towards Ian.  He was still in and out.

He lowered himself onto the bed slowly, telling himself he’d be gone as soon as Mickey woke up.

~~~

Ian opened his eyes and shot straight up, slightly panicking as he didn’t fully grasp where he was right away once he woke up.  When he caught hold of a set of blue eyes looking down at him inquisitively, the slight panic turned into full-on shock.  Leave it to him to tell himself he was only going to close his eyes for a few minutes only for it to end up being a few hours.  Mickey was leaning against his headboard with a pack of frozen peas on his hand.  The cuts on his face were cleaned and he was sporting a small bandage above his left eyebrow.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Ian apologized as he stood.  “I only meant to stay until you woke up and I fell asleep.  How long was I out?”

There was no anger on Mickey’s face, instead there was a slight softness over it despite the bruises that decorated it.  “About two hours,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice, “at least since I’ve been awake.”

“Oh, ok.”  Ian looked at Mickey for a moment, the way his eyes seemed to figuratively pin Ian in place not making him nervous.  “Well, I’m glad you’re alright.  I’m going now.”

“No you’re not.”  Ian furrowed his brows in confusion as he studied the way Mickey continued to keep his eyes planted firmly on him.  “Sit down Gallagher, you’re not going anywhere.”

As if his demand was magnetized, Ian sat on the bed, but made sure to keep his distance.  It was an awkward feeling looming over their heads, and wanting that feeling to quickly pass, Ian said the first thing that came to his mind.  “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“I’m not,” Mickey replied.  Ian turned to look at him finally after sitting stiffly as if afraid to loosen up from the possibility he may actually brush against Mickey.  His heart stuttered when he caught those same eyes looking dead at him, a look of something close to endearment lining the irises.  “My dad shot someone, it knocked me out,” the older boy continued, “and while this means he’ll be runnin’ from the Mexicans for a while, coming back in who knows how long, it also means maybe I’ll catch a fuckin’ break.  I’m tired of this shit.”

Mickey had shared with Ian briefly at the dugout, between kisses and lost breaths into each other, that he was always forced to go out on runs with Terry despite the effects they always had on him.  He’d shared that he felt like his seams were slowly coming loose, and if that happened, stitching them back up probably wouldn’t work.  Feeling his body loosen, Ian slid back just a little more until he could feel the heat of Mickey’s arm in close proximity.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ian getting more and more relaxed, Mickey still staring at the side of Ian’s face, refusing to look away as if he’d miss something monumental if he did.  “I have something on my face or something?” Ian chuckled as he looked up at the ceiling at nothing in particular.

“Wrong question to ask a guy like me,” Mickey smiled, “but yeah, something like that.”  Ian let out a snort, thinking to himself he must look like a giant red swirl or some shit right now. 

“Is it what you saw the other night at the dugouts?”  It was a sarcastic move, his comment, meant to be a joke, but the way the light slipped out of Mickey’s face made him suddenly realize the weight of his words.  “Listen, I didn’t mean it like that,” he apologized, “about the other night, I wasn’t upset, and – “

“Save it,” Mickey cut across him.  “I did see something that night.”

“What did you see?”

Mickey cast his eyes downward before shifting on his bed.  “Ah ffffuck,” he hissed in pain, grabbing his side as he maneuvered again.  Instinctively, Ian placed a hand on his side, silently asking him if he was okay.  He looked up at the older boy to verbally ask, but before he could say anything, his words were caught by a kiss, slipping easily into Mickey’s mouth.  The kiss was long and slow, similar to the way they kissed at the dugout, except this time there was no hurry to break away.  “That’s what I saw,” Mickey finally answered once they pulled apart.

“I don’t understand,” Ian responded, not nearly caring that he didn’t, too lost in the way Mickey’s lips felt on his.

“I’ll explain to you eventually,” Mickey assured him, “in due time.”

“Time huh?”  Ian then looked back up at the ceiling, all of the unanswered questions he had rising there.  He kept one however, at eye level.  “So where do we go from here?” he asked.

“Hell if I know,” Mickey answered.  And he didn’t know where they were going or where they would end up.  As long as the questions continued to be ‘where do _we_ go’, or ‘how will _we_ end up’ – always signifying the _two_ of them.

Understanding the breadth of what he just said, Ian peeled his eyes off of the ceiling and cast them on the boy next to him.  He found himself wondering how things must look through his eyes as he slid a little closer.  Mickey’s eyes seem to focus on him a lot more intently, as if thinking about something.  “What are you thinking?” Ian asked.

“Just something my mother said to me once,” Mickey responded as he reminisced about the conversation they had at the kitchen table when he was nine.  In the midst of the memory, Ian lifted his hand and traced a bruise underneath his eye, a kaleidoscope of colors bleeding off of him as his mother’s voice settled in the back of his mind, the words just as clear as day and as warm as they were years ago. 

_But they’ll be lively and the brightest you’ve ever seen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is thank you for sticking with this story to the end. I know I'm a flake when it comes to updates, and I'm appreciative of your patience. I feel so-so about this last chapter, but I'm happy overall about the story. I hope you enjoyed, and as usual, thanks for reading! I have an updates for my other WIP's coming up, as well as a one shot (AU) coming soon. Love you guys for sticking by me. <3
> 
> Follow me at penprowess.tumblr.com and say hi! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this so much. Being the Behavioral Neuroscience geek I am, I jumped at this! I won't say much, except this will be 5 set chapters (dragging it on too long will make it lose it's momentum). Chapter 2 is already almost done, and I already have written down how the rest of the story will go (just have to put it together).
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter, and thanks for reading! Chapter 2 coming soon. :)


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